Land of Shadows
by bythesea
Summary: This is a sequel to The Magician's Nephew and prequel to LWW. Polly and Digory are drawn together once again, but this time it is Polly's youngest son who enters Narnia at a time of crisis.
1. Chapter 1

He was awakened, he thought, by tapping on the window of his bedroom. Digory Kirke roused himself and stood by the casement. There was no moonlight or starlight; the clouds were unbroken. The unsleeping lights of the great city kept the sky from being black. Digory could see that the branches of the apple tree did not reach to within ten feet of the windows. What could it have been then, he asked. A squirrel, a rat? Preposterous. Perhaps he had been dreaming. He turned the handle and flung the window open. He was shocked by the blast of cold air. It had been a cold, dreary spring. That and the steady stream of unsettling news from the Continent had lowered his spirits. The apple tree in his yard was delayed in blooming, he thought, looking at the inky lines of its branches in the dark.

He found it convenient to keep a house in the city but he much preferred his cottage near the university and of course his country retreat with its park, stables and kennels, and the surrounding woods. He shut the window with a shudder. The house still had the power to remind him of the days when his mother lay on her sick bed and he despaired that she would live beyond his childhood. He would not have stayed overnight if he had not received a letter from an old friend asking to meet him here. Why had he been dreaming of the tree, he wondered. He did not often think of it these days. He put the thought out of his mind and returned to bed.

Under the overcast morning sky the figure of a woman stepped out of the black cab. She was in a blue wool coat with matching felt hat. She wore sensible shoes, Digory observed. He grinned with delight. He had not seen his childhood friend Polly in years, although they had corresponded more often. He hurried to the door.

Polly greeted him with a look of calm pleasure. Her grey eyes were lively as ever. She had changed only slowly with the years. Digory felt uncomfortably conscious of his growing waistline. He was beginning to look the image of the middle-aged professor who spent his hours behind a desk with no longer any time for the active life. "Well, do come in," he said cheerily.

At her side was a boy. This was her youngest, Stephen. Digory was not surprised to see her accompanied as she had mentioned it in her letter. The boy wore a duffel coat. His black Oxfords had been well shined. On orders from his mother no doubt. Digory thought his face looked soft. His skin was pasty without any underlying rosiness. There were dark circles under his eyes. Digory hoped that his concern was not too obvious. "Pleased to meet you, my young fellow," he said heartily, reaching out and shaking the boy's hand. The boy continued to look at him with placid steadiness.

"You know, Edward is stationed only an hour and a half from town by train. It's very convenient," said Polly when they were settled in the sitting room. "I could visit you more often, if you like."

"I would like that very much." As her family had been growing up Polly had had to uproot them to follow her husband, Captain Edward Sears, in his postings. Digory could appreciate her delight at being close to London again.

"I'm not at this house very often," Digory continued. "I suppose I should air it out a bit more. I've neglected it." Polly's eyes scanned the interior slowly. There was a trace of a smile on her lips. "Oh, there's nothing left of my uncle's," said Digory, "if that's what you're looking for." Digory's uncle Andrew had been a magician. It was he who had fashioned the magical rings that took them to other worlds so many years before.

Digory fetched the tea things and poured cups for the three of them. "You must try this lemon pudding cake." Polly smiled indulgently at the sight of Digory clumsily working the slices of cake on to plates. She knew he was not used to hosting company on his own. In his rooms at college the staff would have taken care of such chores. Digory hadn't changed much, she thought. Just look at his hair. Though now streaked with grey it was as heaped up and unruly as ever.

"The other children are doing well, I take it?"

"Very well," Polly said between sips of tea. "Michael is working at a firm of accountants. He hasn't decided whether he wants to take it up as a profession, but I do hope so. Elizabeth is assistant to an editor at a publishing company. She earns a living reading children's books, imagine that! It's wonderful the opportunities available to girls nowadays. And Evelyn is still in school, of course."

Digory nodded appreciatively. Even though he tended to be bored by domestic details he enjoyed the warmth of Polly's voice, her pride and affection.

Stephen was sitting on the chesterfield, saying very little. To Digory's disapproving gaze he seemed a trifle on the pudgy side. That was not a healthy sign in a boy. When Stephen had finished his tea and cake his mother said rather loudly, "Why don't you go buy some sweets for yourself? We saw that shop down the street." She snapped open her purse and handed her son some change.

"Yes, Mother," Stephen murmured and dutifully headed out the front door.

Polly turned her attention to Digory. "I'm being mysterious, aren't I?" Polly's eyes lit up. "You're dying to know why I've asked to see you here."

Digory felt a curious sensation. It was not that he was reminded of the appearance of the youthful Polly. In fact, he could not remember clearly what Polly looked like as a young girl. There were photographs taken of course but these he had carelessly stored away some place. No, it was less tangible than that. He felt as if a warm breeze from the past was blowing. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Polly turned serious. "I'll get to the heart of the matter. My son Stephen has always been a sensitive child. He would cry from fear of things that he had imagined: strange noises, presences outside the windows or in the attic. No one could ever see the things that set him off. You no doubt think that I've indulged the boy excessively. Perhaps so.

"Lately he has told me he hasn't been sleeping well. He has dreams that disturb him. He can't or won't tell me the details. I've always encouraged him to express himself artistically. He's been drawing rather obsessively of late. Here are a few of his drawings."

Polly opened her purse again and unfolded sheets of paper. Digory could see that the child had exerted considerable pressure to make dark, flowing lines with a thick pencil. It was as if the child were possessed by a vision that he needed to release. At the same time the drawings were minutely detailed. All the drawings were variations on the same subject: a massive tree with apples hanging from its boughs. In one of the drawings a young woman was shown with her back pressed against the trunk. Or one might have said that she seemed to be emerging from the trunk. She was slender with long sinuous arms. Her hair cascaded down almost to her waist. In Digory's eyes there was no mistaking the subject. This was the Tree of Protection in far-off Narnia and its dryad.

"I know you wouldn't have forgotten this," Polly said. "Or her."

_Author's note. I am thankful for all those who have written 'Fall of Narnia' stories, Magician's Nephew sequels and Polly andDigory stories although I'm sure I haven't paid as much attention to them as they deserve. In particular, a story by the awesomely productive Rosa Cotton was one inspiration._


	2. Chapter 2

When Stephen left the sweets shop there were three boys standing about on the sidewalk. Two younger ones, with wool caps and wearing short pants, leaned against a wall. There was a taller, older boy with blond curls that fell over his ears. Stephen thought this boy looked athletic, with broad shoulders.

"Aren't you going to share?" one of the boys taunted Stephen.

Stephen halted. He reached into the bag he was carrying and dropped some liquorice all-sorts into the outstretched hands of the younger boys. He noticed that their hands were a little dirty and scratched. "You should always wash your hands before eating," Stephen said. For some reason this brought down peals of laughter from the boys.

The blond-haired boy, whose name was William, had seen Stephen exiting the cab with his mother. There was something about Stephen's docility and obedience around his mother that got under his skin. "Are you sure your mummy lets you walk this far all by yourself?" Stephen looked at William, didn't seem to find anything interesting, and continued walking.

William hated being ignored. "I know where your mother went," he fairly shouted. "She went to see that queer professor fellow. My dad says he was kicked out of the school he was teaching at because he was fooling around with one of the students!" There were guffaws from the younger boys.

Stephen's eyes widened. He was beginning to feel embarrassed. His ears were getting hot. Still, he kept on walking.

William trotted doggedly after him. "We're going to tell everybody about it. How would your mum like that, huh?"

Stephen quickened his pace but did not turn back or answer. William let him go at that point. His anger was not satisfied but he had to admit thinking that this strange boy was braver than he looked.

William gathered his accomplices. "We'll go to the back wall of their yard, climb over and see what they're doing in there," he said with a knowing grin.

One of the little boys giggled. The other was not so enthusiastic. "He's all right," he said in way of protest, meaning that Stephen should be left alone.

"He's peculiar," the other one said, as if 'peculiar' were a new word he was trying to learn.

William had made up his mind and was headed for the back lane. That apparently made the decision for the other boys as well.

The yards of the rowhouses were surrounded by high brick walls. The boys couldn't look over the wall nor was there anything they could stand on. William decided the only thing to do was to climb over the wall himself and watch from inside the yard.

"But that's trespassing!" one of the boys objected.

"Well, go home then," said William dismissively.

After a few minutes the two younger boys looked at one another and shrugged. Standing outside the yard and not being able to see, if there was anything to see, was not much fun. "This is boring and I'm getting cold," complained one of the boys, loudly enough for William to hear. "I'm going home."

"Suit yourself!" William did not appreciate being reminded that it was chilly. He had a think jacket himself.

"If anything good happens Will will tell us tomorrow," one of the younger boys said to the other.

At about this time, William was beginning to realize that the chances of a scandalous occurrence being neatly framed in one of the rear windows of the Professor's house had to be remote. I suppose they would have the decency to draw the curtains first, he thought. He didn't want to make a hasty retreat though. That would make him look foolish. He paced back and forth across the yard, hoping that there would be something at least mildly amusing to take back to his young followers.

William was still pacing when he chanced to look up and saw Stephen's mother pulling aside the curtain in a window. Was she going to have a look outside? Now what was he going to do? The yard was bare. There were beds for plants but nothing was growing there now. There was only the old apple tree. In a moment William was behind the trunk. The trunk was too narrow to properly conceal him but then it suddenly ceased to matter. The trunk, the yard, Professor Kirke's house, all vanished.


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't understand it but there's no other explanation," Digory argued as he paced around the room. "The Tree of Protection is threatened and that means Narnia is threatened. This was a message delivered to us, the last humans on Earth who have travelled to that other world."

"A message delivered through my son? You're thinking—"

"I have no doubt. It can only mean that Stephen is intended to go to the aid of Narnia."

"I know you. You want to go on this adventure yourself if only you could. On our last visit Aslan clearly told us that we were too old to return. You still have emotional ties to that woman, that tree nymph, whatever you want to call her. I will not have you sending my child off on a mission as some sort of surrogate for yourself."

"No, no, I will not place any obligations on him. He is free to do as he thinks best."

"But what of the danger? We have no idea what is threatening Narnia. It would be no better than what your uncle did." Digory's uncle had sent Polly to another world with the gold ring not knowing what would happen to her there.

"Polly, Polly," Digory began, with a mixture of exasperation and amusement at his old friend. "Can you hear yourself speak? How could Stephen be in any danger if it is Aslan's intent that he go to Narnia? You were never one to shy away from an adventure. How could you deny your son that opportunity if it is open to him?"

It was Polly's turn to break into a smile. "It seems so different when you're the parent." As soon as she said this she wondered if Digory was offended, being a bachelor, but he showed no reaction.

The discussion was still in an undecided state when the front door clicked and Stephen stepped in. He had a slightly worried look, wondering what the adults were discussing.

Polly helped Digory take the tea things to the kitchen sink. She pulled the curtain aside and exclaimed, "There's a boy in the backyard. Good gracious! He's vanished!"

Digory was at her side. "What did he look like?"

"He was a handsome boy with curly blond locks."

"It must be George Manning's boy. A neighbor."

"He stepped behind the apple tree and disappeared."

On hearing the words 'apple tree' Stephen sprang to life as if an electric shock had gone through him. He ran for the rear door.

"Stephen!" Polly called in alarm. That was her mothering instinct reacting first. But then another instinctive feeling took over. She did not rush to the door to hold her son back. She stood before the window and saw him run to the apple tree. He looked back over his shoulder once as if to acknowledge a farewell. He reached the tree and grasped the trunk in his arms. Instantly he was gone from this world.

Polly felt a warm surge of comfort and confidence. Stephen had gone where he was needed, where Aslan wanted him to be. It was better this way. The matter had been taken out of their hands. Digory had probably thought of digging up the magic rings. Somehow it didn't seem right. It was just as well he didn't have the chance. How could she be expected to know about the tangled threads connecting the worlds? It was beyond the understanding of humans.

Digory grinned. "How very odd," he murmured. "I wonder why the neighbor's boy is involved. I would never have imagined that." Louder, he said to Polly, "Well, nothing to do now but wait. I don't suppose it'll take long. They'll be bringing back intriguing stories, I have no doubt."

"If he's going to save Narnia you could at least make lunch."


	4. Chapter 4

Stephen felt such relief to see the apple tree in Prof. Kirke's backyard he broke out in a grin as he ran towards it. The tree was exactly how it had appeared to him before. Whether he was awake or dreaming at the time he could no longer remember. He knew that he would one day find the tree and he knew there was something very special about it. It didn't even surprise him to hear that the other boy disappeared.

He would never admit that there was anything scary or threatening about his dreams and visions. People thought he was mental if he talked about what he saw. He couldn't show that they were disturbing to him. It would upset his mother. He got used to them. Still, it was difficult to pay attention to ordinary life when he might at any moment see things that weren't really there. Now he felt so relieved and excited it was as if he had been awakened from a slumber and could see and smell the world afresh.

And it was a different world. Stephen breathed in deeply. At home the land was struggling to escape the grip of winter but here spring was in full stride. The canopy of leaves was so thick the ground was cloaked in a green gloom. Shafts of sunlight broke into the gloom, catching insects swirling overhead and highlighting the swollen grey boles of massive trees. Warblers and thrushes sang in the branches.

Stephen noticed, a few feet away, the blond boy who had apparently disappeared behind the tree. Stephen rose up from the bed of ferns in which he was lying. Drops of dew flicked off the shaken fronds.

"Hey," William called out, "how did you get here? And where is here?"

Before there was an answer William was distracted by a magical sound that rang in his ears. He recognized it; he wasn't sure how. His eyes traced the path that ran through the forest. To his left, emerging into view, were knights on horseback. The jingling of their chain mail, the clinking of mailed boots against stirrups, the shaking of the horses' bridles, and the thumping of the hooves, all these made up the most wonderful sound William had ever heard.

There were two knights in hauberks of chain mail riding on towering war chargers. One wore a surcoat divided into fields of green and crimson with an image of a winged lion repeated over each field. The other wore a design with silver flowers on a purple background. Their horses were caparisoned in matching livery. William thought the colors dazzling. He was certain he had not seen anything more beautiful. They were bare-headed; their helmets hung from their saddles. William could see they were handsome, tanned men.

There was a third figure, not as tall as the men on horseback but even more astonishing. William had to stare for some moments before he could believe his eyes. The lines of the horse's body led immediately to the torso of a man, bare-chested and muscular. William had to dredge through his knowledge of Greek mythology to come up with the name. It was what people called a centaur. He had a bow looped over one shoulder and a quiver at his back. His beard was full, dark and curly.

Stephen had the advantage on William. When he was a small child his mother told him stories of such strange creatures. They were set in a land she called "Narnia". She had always hinted in a joking way that they were not just make-believe.

William sprang up. He never considered that this might be reckless. He waved his arm excitedly, as if the knights hadn't noticed him.

"What have we here?" asked one knight, appearing to be pleasantly surprised.

"Are you two Sons of Adam?" asked the other.

William did not hesitate to speak for both of them. "If you mean, are we boys, of course we are! What else would we be?"

"There will be a blaring of trumpets and a great hue and cry in the King's castle when we bring you there. It is nothing short of a marvel to have two true Sons of Adam appear in this land at once."

"But aren't you humans as well?"

The knight looked thoughtful. "If you are indeed strangers to this land then perhaps it is not so easy to give an answer. There have never been many of your kind in Narnia and if there are more in the adjoining lands few have travelled here. They have intermarried with the tree nymphs and the river gods and over the generations their blood has been much diluted. So, you see, we are descended from humans but we cannot claim to be like you two."

Stephen listened attentively but William was so enthralled by the idea of knights in full armor riding out from the pages of a story book that he hardly listened to these words. The knights alighted and helped the boys clamber on to their mounts.

"We will take you to the castle in due course but first we have a mission in these woods," one of the knights explained.

William took a glance at the other horse and saw a happy grin on Stephen's face. William grinned himself. For a moment their encounter on a London street was forgotten as if it had taken place in another world.

Stephen was grinning because the word "Narnia" had come to his ear. He knew now that the strange country of his mother's stories was as real as the horse under his seat.

_Author's note: The idea for this scene is borrowed from the opening of 'Perceval' by Chretien de Troyes, which I haven't read._


	5. Chapter 5

"We have been called to deal with wolves that have ravaged the nearby farms," said Sir Galoren, the knight riding with Stephen. Galoren was the taller of the two knights. His red hair was wavy and fell to his collar. His companion, Sir Rengist, had short brown hair and was more darkly tanned.

The knights rode through the forest of dark green firs and towering elms. The centaur, named Cathiel, walked ahead as if disdainful of the company of dumb horses bearing riders. The company did not have far to go. Three grey wolves loped out of the undergrowth. One approached the knights.

"We wish to parley with the Knights of the Silver Apple," said the wolf, staring at them with his yellowish-green eyes. Stephen knew these were not dumb brutes but Talking Beasts of Narnia. "We knew of your coming."

William stared at the talking wolf. He looked around, wondering if this was some trick of ventriloquism. Stephen must have smiled because William immediately shot out, "What are you smirking at?"

Sir Rengist dismounted and put on his helmet. "You have been accused of killing the sheep and cattle of our citizens. How do you plead?"

"You know very well that we are guilty, but you also know that the game of these woods has been slaughtered by your hunters, all for the sake of frivolous pleasure. The deer that survived have been chased far from our territories. These have been times of famine for me and my brothers, though they are times of plenty for the court of Narnia." Stephen saw that the wolf was gaunt, his ribs were exposed alarmingly, and even his coat of spiky grey fur was uneven and dull. The wolf continued. "We would not disturb the livelihoods of farmers except out of necessity, but that is what we are driven to."

"You lie. We saw deer in the forest only this morning."

The wolf bared its sharp, pointed white teeth and snarled. "You know full well that those are not wild animals but Talking Beasts. We would no more kill a Talking Beast than we would tear out the throat of that human boy."

William had jumped off the horse and had pulled a curved dagger out of its scabbard on Rengist's saddle. He stood to one side and a dozen feet behind Rengist. As the wolf was eyeing the boy Rengist drew his sword and charged. The wolf spun and dodged out of sword range. Noiselessly on its padded feet, the wolf turned to flee. It had not found its speed when an arrow thumped into its back, embedding near its spine. Stephen's eyes traced the arrow's flight back to the long bow of the centaur. The other two wolves fled into the woods but the centaur drew another arrow and sent it into the hip of one of them. It gave a high-pitched whine of pain and dragged itself beneath an ancient fallen log.

Rengist was quick to dispatch the wolf that had spoken. Dark blood soaked into the soil of the path. Sir Galoren sent his horse trotting after the other wounded wolf. It was still struggling to escape, drawing a dotted black line of blood on the emerald moss of the forest floor. Galoren finished it and left the body where it fell. The third wolf had long disappeared from view.

"What about the other one?" asked William. "Shouldn't we go after it?"

"I don't think we can catch it now," said Rengist. "The forest is too thick. It will find its way, no doubt, to the Northern Wastes where there is always a fond welcome for such creatures."

"It's just brilliant that we get to see some fighting right away," exclaimed William. "What, can't you take the sight of a little blood?" This was directed towards Stephen. There was something about Stephen's pale face and sour expression that got under William's skin.

Stephen was shocked that Rengist would attack the wolf while it was talking. Teeth can't damage armor, he thought. There's nothing very brave about fighting a wolf fully armed. The wolves were killed while running away. How cowardly was that? Then there was no denying that these animals could think and speak like people. Stephen said nothing but William seemed to read his thoughts.

"It's just like you to pour cold water on our first battle."

Rengist cleaned the blood off his long sword on leaves and ferns, finally drying it with a cloth. "We'll bring the carcass of this one back with us. It should make a pretty decoration for the floor of our hall."


	6. Chapter 6

As the knights followed the trail eastward the forest opened up to flat fields and the trail merged into a wide road. Small farms bordered by hedgerows or low stone walls neatly divided up the land. Farmers occasionally passed them driving their wagons. Stephen saw that these were mostly dwarves. Those wearing hats doffed them at the passing knights. The others made small bows. What they had in common were scowling countenances, made uglier by their thick eyebrows and long, dark beards. "Why are they were making nasty faces at you?" Stephen asked.

"You are observant, young sir," Galoren answered. "They make a pretence of respect but they cannot hide their feelings. The dwarves have been out of favor at Cair Paravel for many years. They feel they are unfairly treated by the King and his court. I tell you, the hearts of dwarves are black. It would not surprise me if they were plotting even now against Cair Paravel."

"You mean they would overthrow the King?"

"Yes, and the jest is that no Narnian would accept a dwarf as a king, so where would such plotting lead them? But it gives them a grim satisfaction in imagining dark deeds." Stephen was troubled. His mother had never mentioned such problems and fears.

Stephen reeled in the saddle. Without warning, darkness came over his vision as if a black curtain had fallen before his eyes. Stephen felt a sudden blast of frigid air. He squirmed and rubbed his eyes with his forearm. The darkness coalesced into forms that he could interpret. He saw the blackened, burnt ruins of a small farmhouse. Thickets of brambles had overgrown the clearing around the house. The land was abandoned and the woods were reclaiming it. Everywhere was a covering of snow. Stephen understood, though he couldn't explain how, that this was not the fate of a single farm but that all this farmland surrounding them was similarly devastated. Then the images gradually faded like fog dissipating and Stephen could again see the vista of sunny fields bordering the road.

"What is wrong, young sir?" cried the knight.

Stephen looked up as if dazed, but the vision had passed. "I'm all right now." Stephen realized he was breathing heavily and made an effort to calm down. He was shaken, not only by the vision but with the glum realization that coming to Narnia he would not escape his visions. On the contrary, he was closer to the source now and he should only expect things to worsen.

Though it took him a few minutes to recover, Stephen thought it was just as well he was jolted out of the pleasant complacency the long ride was lulling him into. He remembered that he had followed William here hoping to find the answer to the visions troubling him. His task might not be easy but his determination was renewed. He sensed he had some purpose here, although that was still hidden from him.

The road followed the curves of the great river. In places it was possible to look down a slope to the expanse of bright water. By late afternoon they could see the grass-clad hills by the seacoast north of the river. "On one of those hills lies Cair Paravel, the castle of the King," Sir Galoren announced.

"I was wondering," Stephen asked, "about the silver apple you have painted at the corner of your shield."

"Rengist and I are members of the Order of the Silver Apple, the ancient order of knights. It was named in honor of the Tree of Protection that safeguards Narnia. But you would learn much more of that from our lore masters, if that pleases you."

As they approached the sea they passed wooded estates and could sometimes glimpse large stone mansions behind green lawns. "The nobles have built fine houses for themselves nearby the King's castle," the knight explained.

Clusters of wooden buildings -- houses, markets and workshops -- had grown up by the approach to the castle. These were bustling with the activities of animal workers and dwarves.

Their arrival at Cair Paravel was a memory William would always cherish. A brisk sea breeze snapped the pennants on the high towers. The late afternoon sun glinted on the armor of the soldiers manning the battlements. Their uniforms were a dazzling white. The high stone walls seemed to enclose a small town. The road led at last over a drawbridge and through a fortified gatehouse. No one questioned them as they rode into a courtyard.

William was puzzled and, at first, to be honest, disgusted at what he took to be monstrously oversized mice, beavers, and squirrels scurrying about. They ran on four legs most of the time but occasionally would rear up on their hind legs and take some steps. "What are you staring at? Haven't you ever seen a squirrel before?" one said to him sharply. This was not very fair to William for, not only was he not accustomed to Talking Beasts but, in fact, the animals were staring back at him and Stephen. Partly this was because of their unfamiliar garb and partly because humans were such a rare sight in Narnia, as the knight explained.

"Welcome to Cair Paravel," said Sir Galoren grandly, "home of Aurelian, High King of Narnia and Emperor of the Lone Isles. I am sure the King will wish to speak with you immediately."


	7. Chapter 7

As the boys were led into the main keep of the castle by one of the King's attendants, an old female faun came up to them. A tattered old shawl was draped over her head and shoulders. She carried a basket of apples. "Kind sirs," she asked, "Could you spare a penny for an apple to help an old woman?" William shook his head brusquely and passed by her. Stephen looked at her and was about to do the same when, in place of the wrinkled old face with grey hair, he saw the face of a lovely young woman. She had clear, pale skin, a slender nose and eyes of bright green. She returned Stephen's gaze, looking steadily into his eyes. He had to turn away. He told himself that it was rude to stare at a woman but, in truth, she made him feel too self-conscious. She seemed to look at him as if she recognized him. In a breath the young woman's face was gone and it was the old faunness who turned away to find another buyer for her apples in the courtyard. Stephen was left to marvel at this magic and to wonder why he was the only one who noticed it. In a moment he had to hasten to catch up to William and the palace attendant.

The two boys were led on a circuitous journey through the stone corridors of the castle. They passed halls with rows of long tables, small offices in which men sat at desks and scribbled on rolls of parchment, and rooms in which women were weaving. They went up staircases lit only by candles. William wondered if everyone who went to see the King had to go so far.

The page knocked on the door to a room. It was opened by an aged centaur. He announced solemnly, "The King will see you now," and stepped out of the room to admit the boys. It took them a while to adjust to the dim light in the room. It was a small room lit by a single window. Dark tapestries hung on the wall and thick rugs were soft under foot. The walls were lined with bookcases. The King sat stiffly in a chair wearing a thick, plain robe. He had snow white hair and a long beard.

"Come in young Sons of Adam. I apologize for having to receive you in this state but I felt it important not to delay our meeting. Do not be overly concerned with formalities. I have been taken with wretched illness for too many days of late. Perhaps we should simply move the throne into my sick room." His voice was slow and calming. William found that it was quietly commanding and did not sound at all weak or ill at present. The page arranged two cushioned wooden seats for the boys.

"Perhaps we should begin with the unpleasant business. You are not spies or agents of the White Witch, are you?"

"Witch?" cried William incredulously. "Nobody believes in witches. Leastways not anyone who's normal. And I wouldn't be a spy for anybody."

"No, I don't think you're spies," agreed the King. "She wouldn't have spies that attract as much attention as you two. You must be true Sons of Adam. You cannot be counterfeits masked by her magic. Neither she nor her magic can enter Narnia while the Tree of Protection stands. Then there is the possibility that she has recruited you to do her bidding."

"There's a way to answer that," volunteered William. "Tell me where to find her and I'll bring you her head on a platter."

The King laughed. "Indeed, that would answer that. Only one day in Narnia and you are promising me the White Witch's head! Well, I suppose you will get your chance to prove your loyalty to me in coming days."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Tell me of your coming to Narnia. Was there a purpose to it? What magic did you use?"

"I went behind a tree and the next thing I know, I was here," replied William.

"A tree? Any ordinary tree?" asked the King.

"It was the apple tree in Prof. Kirke's backyard," offered William.

Stephen was hoping he wouldn't mention Prof. Kirke or his, Stephen's, mother. There was no telling how the Narnians would react.

"Kirke? Kirke, you say?" The King tried pronouncing the name, as if the sound would trigger his memory. "You don't mean, Digory Kirke?" William nodded, astonished the King would know the name. "Digory was there at the beginning, with Aslan when he breathed life into this world. He was here with King Frank and Queen Helen. He is a legendary figure in the chronicles of Narnia. There was his friend Polly too." The King spoke in a reverential tone.

Stephen felt like blurting out that Polly was his mother but restrained himself and started coughing to cover up. He trusted the King intuitively but he was cautious too. Not understanding the situation, he told himself he must avoid divulging any more information than he had to.

"So Digory Kirke still lives in your world? But, of course. I have been told that time in your world runs differently than here. Hundreds of Narnian years can pass to only a few of yours. Digory, you might be interested to know, is credited with founding the order of knights with whom you have been riding. Yes, not on his first visit, though."

Stephen was searching his memories, wishing he could remember more of what his mother had told him of Narnia. He could begin to make some sense on his side, at least. His mother and her old friend Digory Kirke must have gone to Narnia together. That was why she was so keen to visit him.

"There's something I don't understand, though," explained William. "What is all this fuss about us being Sons of Adam—I mean humans?"

The King looked faintly surprised. "I beg your pardon. Naturally, you would not understand. The kings of Narnia have always been descendants of Sons of Adam, and ruling queens would have to be descendants of Daughters of Eve. There are few humans in court. To be sure, many in Narnia can claim descent from humans but their non-human nature dominates. They cannot live as humans. They must return to the woods or to the rivers, to join the tree nymphs and river gods. Many of the kings of Narnia can only serve for a short reign. Then they must abdicate to an heir and heed the call of their nature.

"Alas, I have no heir and my wife died many years ago. I cannot desert my post. Now I am old and sickly. There must be a new king shortly but none in court have a claim to the throne by blood. And now you two arrive. Can you wonder at the interest?"


	8. Chapter 8

After the boys had been shown to their quarters in the castle they asked to be re-united with the knights Rengist and Galoren. The Order of the Silver Apple had its own hall within the castle and there the knights could be found in their leisure hours. The boys found Rengist and Galoren seated at a bench drinking mugs of ale.

William looked about him. "Where is your friend the centaur?"

Galoren answered, "Cathiel is the finest companion in battle one could ask for, but the centaurs are a proud, aloof race and not over fond of human company. Even those who live at Cair Paravel will go out to the hill slopes to meet with their own kind."

Rengist shrugged, with the hint of a scowl on his face. "The rules of our order do not require him to drink with us. Which is just as well."

Galoren said, "Satyrs and fauns, on the other hand, make the merriest companions. Everyone wants to be friends with them. They sing, they dance, they tell amusing stories."

"But they're useless for anything else," snorted Rengist.

Galoren laughed. "You exaggerate, my friend. There are satyrs serving in high positions in the palace. I don't need to remind you of that."

"Are these…um, people knights too?" William asked in a loud whisper. There were satyrs, centaurs, and even some dwarves at the other benches.

"Certainly," answered Galoren. "Any that the King chooses to knight and who swear to live by our rules may join. They may wield arms in whatever fashion they are accustomed to."

"What sort of rules do you have?"

"They are very simple: to serve the King, to uphold the laws of Narnia, to live by the rules laid down by Aslan, and, of course, to love and be faithful to Aslan."

"The King mentioned Aslan too. Who is this Aslan, anyway?"

"Who is Aslan? Why, he is the Creator of this world. He is the true King. The human kings rule in his name."

"That sounds like bosh to me. Where is he then, if he's king of the world?"

The knights looked at William solemnly. Galoren answered, "We have never seen him, it is true. They say that he has not walked these lands in many a year. In the stories he is in the form of a lion, but you could not mistake him for any common beast."

William began to laugh but suppressed it when he saw the knights' disapproval. "You don't believe fairy tales, do you?"

"There are those," said Rengist, "who say that Aslan does not exist, that he is only a story passed on from mother to child."

Stephen had heard of Aslan. He always associated Aslan with the warm glow his mother had when she described him. She said when she needed strength she often pictured the magnificent lion's head with its radiant golden mane.

William continued. "The rest of it, supporting the King and all that, sounds easy enough."

"You are thinking of becoming a knight of the Silver Apple, young sir?" Rengist wondered.

"I don't see why not. The King said I might ask to become a squire. I could start training."

The knights could see that he was broad-shouldered and looked like he would make a good fighter. "It is a noble calling," said Rengist proudly.

"There's something else the King said. He said we could be kings! I mean, after he's gone." Two fauns at a nearby bench glanced up and then pretended not to have heard anything. "Or, that is, I could be King. Stephen could be my court jester." William laughed. Stephen smiled good-naturedly.

"Be wary what you say," Rengist said darkly, "even in jest. The time must come when the King will name a successor. The court is divided. Fauns, satyrs, centaurs, dwarves, they all look to the interests of their own kind. The centaurs were once creatures of the mountain slopes. The satyrs used to be happy living in forests or caves. Now they have built houses for themselves mimicking the magnificence of Cair Paravel. As Narnia has prospered, desires grow greater and greater."

"But the King must be king over all Narnians," objected Stephen. "He must unite all the peoples."

"That is the ideal all kings of Narnia must pursue, some better than others," said Galoren.


	9. Chapter 9

When the King felt in better health he ordered that a banquet be held to celebrate the arrival of the two Sons of Adam. There was a hall dedicated to this purpose on the ground floor of the castle. Stephen and William sat at the High Table with the King, his Chief Minister, and other high ranking officials. This table of honor was on a raised stone platform at one end of the hall. William was glad he had had ample time to bathe before attending. He had been grooming and feeding the knights' horses that afternoon. It was a good thing he did not smell of the stable in this fine company. The boys he had been working with were not here of course, but they would have been impressed. William noticed with pleasure that other guests were looking at him and turning to their friends to talk about him.

The hall was lit only by the fiery light from the great hearths in the four walls and the candles in elaborate candle holders on the tables. The hearths were each large enough to roast a full grown pig inside but the cooking was now done in the kitchens a floor below. Tapestries hung on the wall depicting scenes from Narnian history but William could not make them out. The flickering play of light and shadow gave the courtiers' gold jewelry and sparkling precious stones a warm, mysterious glitter. The embroidered cloth of their garments likewise gained a special sumptuousness. William could not see the details of the finery in the pools of darkness beyond the blaze of the fires, but all the same, he found the beauty around him intoxicating.

There was only a smattering of humans in the entire gathering. Tree nymphs and water nymphs and gods of woods and streams had been invited. From a distance William thought these looked convincingly like attractive young men and women but he had heard that this was only one of the appearances they could take on. William was glad at least that those horrible talking animals were not present.

The King stayed for the meal but left as the tables were being cleared, helped out of the hall by his attendants.

The tables were shifted aside to provide a stage for musicians and a space to dance. A band of musicians that played pipes, horns, lutes and drums took seats on the stage. The light from the fires seemed to die down, or perhaps this was only an illusion as the dancers thronged toward the semi-darkness in the center of the hall. The spirits of forest and rivers led a dance that gradually gained in frenzy. Fauns and centaurs, men and nymphs, flung themselves around in circles as the music grew louder. More and more wine was being drunk. In the gloom, the light from the fire seemed itself to dance and flicker on the bodies of the dancers.

The High Table had not been moved and Stephen and William stayed in their places. Stephen was thinking that he didn't like dances and the proceedings no longer had anything to do with him. He noticed that William was helping himself to the wine and no one was paying any attention. Stephen decided he would make an excuse to slip away. He had the odd feeling that he was being watched but in the dim light he could not see anyone looking at him.

A centaur turning in his dance movement sent a golden goblet crashing down, just missing the lap of a knight. Stephen recognized the knight as Rengist. Rengist staggered to his feet. His face was red from drink. He bellowed, "You clumsy four-legged monster, you have not the grace to dance with that water nymph! You only make a fool of yourself. You and your kind do not belong in this palace."

The centaur's mouth curled into a sneer. "I have been watching you. You have had your eyes on this nymph since the music started. If you want to dance with her you should be on the floor instead of fortifying your courage by the gobletful."

"An insult to my courage is not an insult a knight of my order can accept."

"Isn't anyone going to stop this?" Stephen heard himself saying.

"Silence, young one," shouted another knight. "It is a matter of honor. We must not interfere."

"But it's crazy! They're going to kill one another."

"You have the courage to face me without your precious cocoon of armor, puny human?" challenged the centaur.

Rengist said nothing but glared at his opponent. He stepped clear of the tables and sidled into the gloomy open space at the center of the hall. The dancers fled to the edges of the room. The music came to a ragged, discordant stop.

The centaur's hooves clattered on to a tabletop and over as he made for one of the long walls of the room on which hung shields and weapons. Some knights were at the opposite wall wrenching free weapons themselves. They had all entered the banquet hall unarmed save for inoffensive small knives. The centaur chose a sword and returned over the table to face his enemy in the center of the room. Rengist looked over his shoulder to see what weaponry his fellow knights might be able to provide him. There were screams as it looked as if the centaur would attack the empty-handed man. Drunken shouts of encouragement, taunts directed at the enemy, cries of outrage, screams of fear, all rang out. In Stephen's ears the sounds rose and mingled into an incomprehensible din. He saw that William was no longer in his chair.

William was drawn irresistibly to the impending duel. His heart was pounding. It was unthinkable that the centaur would cut down Sir Rengist unarmed. There was a chance he could do something to help. He nervously fingered the curved dagger strapped to his belt. Little noticed, the young human pressed through the crowd.

As the attention of the crowd was rigidly fixed on the combatants, a figure darted furtively from under the table nearest the centaur. The centaur gave a roar of pain, spun and twisted. Its right flank was streaked with blood. Many of those cowering behind the tables could not see the ivory knife handle that protruded from the centaur's hindquarters. The centaur's attacker fled back under the table. Rengist's fellows by this time had rushed him a sword and shield, then stood back.

Stephen always imagined sword fights were as they looked in movies. There would be a long sequence of cutting and thrusting, deft parrying and clever footwork. This was not like that. Probably it was because both man and centaur were feeling the effects of drink, or that four-legged fighters do not have the maneuverability of men. The centaur came boldly forward, took a wild swing with his sword, which Rengist easily dodged. Rengist then simply thrust forward and caught the centaur under his sword arm. Rengist pushed the sword point further into the body even as the centaur wheeled, screaming. The centaur pulled back and collapsed as blood flowed on to his equine body. The sword hilt was pulled from the knight's hand. Other centaurs approached but there was nothing they could do to help. The centaur thrashed in agony on the floor, smearing his blood in arcs on the stone pavement.

Stephen was dimly aware that William was being surrounded by the knights who seemed to be congratulating him. An orange glow fell on his beaming face. A squad of Palace Guards filed into the room and took control of the centaur's body. Stephen felt distraught and his eyes welled with tears. This was a land of shadows that he could not recognize from his mother's stories of Narnia. He hurried out the doors.


	10. Chapter 10

The next time Stephen saw the King was in the Great Hall of the castle. At the western end, on a raised platform surfaced in marble, was the King's throne. It was carved of wood with a high back and decorated with inset gold and silver lines. Stephen noticed the panel carved to depict a tree. Next to it was another throne, clearly fashioned by the same hands but having a slightly different form. Above the thrones the wall was pierced by high windows. Stephen took the long walk between the two rows of high stone columns that marched the length of the hall. The King was alone except for a small contingent of attendants and secretaries. Stephen recognized one, the grey-haired centaur.

The King had noticed Stephen looking at the second throne. "My Queen Alesia has been gone these twenty years," said the King. "I am afraid this is not a very cozy room for conversation. At least, it does not seem so to me."

"It's beautiful." Stephen was not overawed in the presence of the King despite his high position. He thought the King was understanding and he could speak freely to him.

"If it were warmer we would open the doors at the eastern end of the hall. They lead down to a terrace and provide us with a view out to the Great Eastern Ocean where mermaids and mermen frolic in the whitecaps. There is nothing but the sweep of blue ocean to the far horizon." The King glanced at Stephen. "How do you like your new clothes?"

"They take a bit of getting used to," said Stephen examining the wide sleeve of his white silk shirt, "but I was tired of attracting stares with our English clothes when we walked through the castle. I'm glad to see Your Majesty is feeling better."

"I thank you for your concern. My condition fluctuates from day to day but, I'm afraid, my chief malady is one for which there is no cure. It is old age. I can say this to you but my physician, the good Dr Elestis, will not hear of it." The King smiled sadly. Then, to change the subject from himself, he asked, "I hope that it does not disappoint you too greatly that your friend is helping our knights and you are not."

"Oh, no. I don't fancy breaking my bones falling off a horse or receiving a beating with the wooden sticks they practice fighting with."

"It seems we have made the right decision. I suspect there's more to it than that, though. You seem upset."

"It's just that I thought the knights were supposed to be faithful to Aslan and fight for what he valued in Narnia. But everything seems to end in pointless fighting and bloodshed."

"You're referring to that awful business at the banquet. I'm sorry you had to witness that. The knight showed an inexcusable lack of judgement. He should have known well enough that centaurs must be treated with great respect and caution. The centaurs carry some hidden wisdom that they brood upon and keep secret from others. Sometimes the burden seems too great and they give way to excessive drinking. Then they turn wild and violent."

"But the knights—"

"They are fierce warriors but as an order they have lost their way. There is little I can do to control them. I am old and weak. All the court is looking beyond my reign. They are uncertain and fearful of the succession and seek to gain advantage.

"There is a reason why I asked you back," the King continued. "I wanted to know more about Digory Kirke, for my own sake. I hope you can help me."

"Oh, there's something I need to tell you. I didn't mention before that Polly is really my mother. I was afraid of saying too much."

"I understand. I think that was very prudent of you. Your mother must have told you what she experienced in Narnia. Did she speak to you of Aslan?" Stephen nodded. "Then another witness to those ancient events still lives, even if not on our world, and you are a connection to her and to those times. It gladdens my heart to know the accounts in our histories are not mere imagined stories. I would have you know that I have kept my faith in those old stories."

"But how could people not believe?"

"Do not be too harsh in judging them. The peoples of Narnia are children of the land and of the waters. What they can see and smell and feel in their hands is what is real to them. Aslan has not been here for hundreds of years. It is as if he is testing us, and I am afraid we are failing. I am afraid for the prospects of this land."

"I saw some things, I mean, visions. I saw farms abandoned and forests growing over everything. I saw the countryside frozen in winter, but I don't think it was a natural sort of winter." Stephen was in such need of a sympathetic listener that he continued to speak, unburdening himself. "Last night I had a vision flash in my head of the village outside the castle burning in a terrible fire. The buildings were all lost behind a wall of yellow flame. There were screams and panicked shouting. The shadows of running shapes were passing in front of the flames."

The King was alarmed, more than Stephen expected. "These are evil portents. You have the gift of seeing what may come to pass. Your coming here must be a warning to us."

"Does any of this have to do with the Tree you mentioned before?"

"The Tree of Protection has safeguarded us from the White Witch since the founding of Narnia. The White Witch, you may know, is the undying enemy of Narnia. There are rumors that she is gathering evil forces to her in the far north. She has spent her unnatural span of years gaining mastery over the dark arts. She has hungered with a gnawing hunger to conquer Narnia, not to rule it as any conqueror would, but to crush its people and destroy what is joyful and beautiful about it."

"I have seen the Tree too, or, at least, I'm pretty sure that was it."

"And what did your vision show?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid, just the tree."

"You shall visit the Tree. If my legs were younger I would walk there with you. Perhaps you will find some answers in its presence."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Stephen never expected to feel so grateful to be able to share his thoughts with someone. It calmed his worries to speak with the King. He realized now that he had been feeling small and alone in a strange world.

"I fear that Narnia is reaching the end of an age. What can the presence of you and your companion here mean? There is much to be pondered in these mysteries that Aslan has set before us."


	11. Chapter 11

William stood in front of the mirror and looked at the bruises on his face from that day's fencing practice. He found it horribly embarrassing to be bested by the other boys in fighting with staves. He did not like to do things he was not proficient in. He always suspected that others were laughing at his inadequacies behind his back. On the positive side he was doing well in the general exercises they did every day. Running, jumping, and throwing came naturally to him. His archery was also improving, after long practice sessions in the grounds on the other side of the castle's walls. He had to take into consideration, he realized, that, not only were the other boys older than he was, but most of them had become pages to the knights when they were no more than eight years of age.

When William was feeling discouraged by his training he took solace in his treatment as a hero by the court. In the past days a steady stream of courtiers had introduced themselves and lauded his actions. He had relished the opportunities to give his account of the event because he could relive the exhilaration he felt at the moment of action. He remembered how focused he had been, which had kept the fear away. Strangely, the one person who had said nothing was Rengist himself. Perhaps he thought he never needed William's help. Perhaps it was an embarrassment to him. Still, what about the camaraderie of fellow soldiers and that sort of thing, William wondered.

Just then, a note was passed under his door. It read, "The Chief Minister invites you to visit him in his office this evening." The Chief Minister was the second most powerful person in Cair Paravel. William was a bit apprehensive about meeting him but intrigued too.

Out in the corridor William happened to encounter Stephen. The boys seldom saw each and this suited them fine. William spent most of the daylight hours with the squires and Stephen had lately been occupying himself at the Royal Historian's office, filling in his knowledge of Narnian history.

William noticed that Stephen had some color to his face. "You're looking healthier," said William. "Narnia must be doing you some good."

"It's fine for you, letting you play at soldiers."

"Playing? This isn't playing!" William's eyes flashed but he held back his temper.

Stephen regretted what he said. He knew William was not to blame for what happened at the banquet and he admired the other boy's cool-headedness in the crisis. He couldn't have done the same thing himself. But Stephen passed by silently, leaving William to calm down.

William wondered at times why Stephen didn't warm up to him. It's true that I've snapped at him, William thought, but he has to know how annoying he can be. I keep my temper with other people, well, most of the time. Other people find me friendly and fun. And I have a sense of humor, which is more than you can say about him. He's just envious because I'm the one being praised for fearlessness. No, that isn't true. Stephen doesn't seem to care a bit what others in the palace think of him.

William was irritated that he cared at all whether Stephen was friendly towards him. He couldn't understand why it bothered him. He rationalized it by saying that he wanted to be a leader of men and that meant he had to deal with all sorts of followers, and win them over, but he did not entirely convince himself.

William stood in the center of the carpet as the Chief Minister paced about in his office. William saw that the Chief Minister was a fat, aging satyr. His sallow skin was loose under his chin. The hair between his horns was grey and thinning. He wore an immense cape of purple velvet trimmed with white fur. On a chair was a matching cap. He's hideous, William thought, and he has no taste in clothes. Having made these observations, William felt a little less anxious. He was always nervous in the presence of authority figures because he was concerned how he measured up in their eyes.

"I am delighted to speak to the hero of the banquet. I wish to add my accolades to the many others you have no doubt been receiving." The Chief Minister put the stubby fingers of one hand on William's shoulder. There were heavy gold rings on the satyr's fingers.

"I will be blunt. I am a simple-spoken man regardless of my trappings of power. As you know, the King is old and ill. There are many in the castle who feel that you, as a true Son of Adam, would make a worthy successor. There are two ways this might come to pass. Either the King sees the wisdom in this and names you successor, or the King dies without naming anyone. In the second case you would need support from positions of authority if you made a claim to the crown."

William was a little dazed by this but took it calmly. "Are you telling me this because you would support me?"

"I would not waste your time with small talk."

Although he appeared calm, William's imagination was racing. It seemed to him now that it was not some inexplicable accident to do with Prof. Kirke's backyard and a silly apple tree that brought him here but magic that had a purpose. That purpose must be to see him ascend the throne as the next king. The conclusion seemed so obvious now. He felt like laughing. It was like a dream.

"But aren't there other…um, candidates?"

"Rengist has destroyed his chances by that debacle at the banquet. The King disapproves of his conduct. Besides, the centaurs will not support him now. No, your chief concern is your friend, Stephen."

"He's not my friend. What, him? What did he do to deserve it?"

"He has had a personal audience with the King. They say he has good rapport with the King.You must pay close attention to him." The Minister's thin lips curled up into something resembling a smile. "I see by the desire in your eyes that I have made the right choice."

William left the Minister's office with his thoughts dwelling on Stephen. Earlier he was wondering why they didn't have a friendlier relationship. Now, though it felt a bit strange, that chapter was behind him. He and Stephen were seen as rivals. There could only be one Crown and if whoever wanted it would have to deal with the other.


	12. Chapter 12

One evening as Stephen arrived back in his room after dinner there came a rapping at his door. To be precise it was the lower third of the door. Stephen opened it to find a beaver.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Stephen inquired, perplexed by this unknown and unexpected visitor.

"You might ask what I can do for you. Tumully at your service. My friends have heard that you wish to see the Tree of Protection. May I suggest that tonight would be a good night."

Stephen did not feel he could refuse. His desire to see the Tree brushed aside any caution he might have felt. He snatched up his cloak. The beaver walked at a brisk pace through the castle. They were soon out the gate.

They had not gone far past the village outside the castle when they approached a motley group standing beside the road. Stephen could see that there was a faun and assorted Talking Beasts: a badger, an otter, a deer, a field mouse and a leopard. It lifted Stephen's spirits to see them. They reminded him of the Narnia he imagined. He had often tried to strike up a conversation with a Talking Beast in the castle but they always seemed too busy, and if they did talk, did not venture beyond pleasantries.

The mouse was the first to greet Stephen. "I am Rintivit. We are glad you came. We were afraid to wander through the palace as a group. It would attract too much attention."

"Do we need to be secret?"

The mouse lifted an eyebrow. "We must be careful. You have spent long enough in the palace to know that there are those who hold allegiance to the old ways in their words but not in their actions. Some think we are trouble-makers, even a threat to public order."

"More like a threat to their power," interjected the badger.

"I work in the palace, in the Office of Records. You must drop in to see me. Or I could visit you. It is important that we keep in contact. The point is, I can walk through the corridors without attracting attention. If a guard asks me my business I can say I'm delivering a scroll to you." Stephen agreed that it was a good idea. Rintivit continued, "I'm something of an amateur historian of Narnia. I would love to hear more about the early days."

"You probably know more about them than I do," replied Stephen politely.

After Stephen greeted the animals he heard a chorus, "Tell us about your visions." Then he knew that the King had been in contact with these beasts. Having already unburdened himself to the King, Stephen could now describe what he had seen calmly and thoroughly. As the company listened they began to walk westward on the road.

"It is as I thought," thundered the badger. "Narnia is headed for a bad end. It all comes from not believing in Aslan and forgetting what he told us at the beginning."

"Men have grown so used to power they no longer care for us common folk of Narnia," chimed in the beaver.

"In the Great Famine that took place when I was a cub," said the leopard, "beasts, fauns, dwarves, all were near starving, but we beasts were last to be considered. That is not a time I would soon forget."

"Folk from all around the country rose up and marched on Cair Paravel, demanding assistance," said the badger. "I thought they might burn the place down, they were so angry."

"What happened then?" asked Stephen.

The badger answered, "They made promises. They always make promises. At last the rains came and the land was saved, no thanks to the King and his court."

"They got fat off the food intended for us," cried the mouse. "They lived in luxury while our brothers died."

"But the King is kindly," Stephen objected, distressed.

"True," said the faun, who gave his name as Rufus, "his heart is good but he has always been weak. His commands have too often never been fulfilled. But remember that one king alone cannot change the course Narnia has been on for generations. Let us not plague Stephen further with our complaints as we walk." The others were thinking of the Great Famine, those that remembered it, and they fell silent.

They walked for some time through the valley flanked by green hills. The sun had set but a golden light was lingering in the clouds. The two smallest animals, the otter and the field mouse, rode on the backs of the deer and the leopard respectively.

The otter, unable to contain his curiosity, said, "There's something we've all been very keen to ask you. Are you interested in the Throne of Narnia? We understand that the King looks upon you favorably."

Stephen laughed. "I hadn't thought of it. I don't think I would make a very good king." Stephen was not very popular in school and he was never asked to lead anything. He didn't think anyone would follow him if he did try to lead. It all sounded very unlikely to him.

They were retracing the route Stephen had taken in arriving at Cair Paravel. Stephen told the animals that he never saw the Tree from the road when he passed by. The animals explained that when the Tree was planted it had stood by itself near the river but over time woods had grown up around it, hiding it from the view of travelers on the road.

"In the ancient days, they say that the Tree was always flowering and always full of fruit," the faun explained. "The fruit gave long life, vitality and good health to all who ate of it. Of course it did not grant them the immortality that the White Witch gained from her apple. The Tree still guards over us but some say even she does not have the same vitality as of old. There is not always fruit on the Tree, and fewer are permitted to take of it. Perhaps the truth is, the Tree is withholding her gifts and powers from us."


	13. Chapter 13

As they reached a point on the road the animals recognized where they had to turn off. They pushed through some tall grass to a narrow trail into the woods. The sky was now a mantle of deep blue covering the land. At first Stephen thought that the trail looked unpromising and would peter out just ahead of them. Could the animals be mistaken? There was a rustling of leaves and a whispering in the boughs, but no wind was stirring. From the ground came a scraping, grinding noise. Stephen had the curious feeling that the trees were shifting to widen the path in front of him. He could not believe it. He blinked his eyes and looked again. Then he thought, of course, this was Narnia, why couldn't trees move? His pulse quickened. A thrill ran through his body. Soon, Stephen and his animal companions were past the trees and entered a glade.

The glade was almost circular. No tree or shrub or even tall weed dared to intrude on the open space. It was covered in a flat, smooth lawn, dense and spongy underfoot. It would have been the envy of the King's own gardeners. Torches were inserted into brackets on the nearest trees, producing a circle of firelight on the border of the glade. At the center, standing alone, was a magnificent apple tree. On its curving branches were heavy, round silver apples. The fragrance of the fruit wafted through the air. It was tantalizing that at one moment it was strong and sweet and at other times so faint as to be like the memory of fruit eaten in bygone summers.

Stephen saw to his astonishment that all around the glade were animals, fauns and nymphs. They gave a great cheer when they saw that he was looking at them and the fauns struck up their music. Immediately they formed whirling circles of dancers, swinging from one partner to another. The dances looked ancient and timeless to Stephen. He could easily imagine that they had been going on exactly like this for hundreds of years since Narnia's creation.

The fauns nearest to Stephen invited him into the dance. Stephen had always thought he was clumsy and didn't like to dance but there was no point protesting when even the beavers and badgers had joined the circle. The music was irresistible. His feet could not stay rooted to the lawn. The animals that remained on four legs did their own dance in squares, with intricately timed steps. Stephen's hopes were buoyed. He felt a sudden sense of freedom. For a night he could be immersed in the life of Narnia.

The moon rose, nearly full. Moonlight glimmered on the slender trunks of birches in the woods. The music paused and the dancers settled on to the grass. Stephen didn't know how much time had passed. He scarcely felt tired at all but his face was warm from the exertion.

Tree nymphs emerged from the surrounding woods. They were tall with unusually slender waists and long limbs. The badger helpfully murmured that they were linden maidens. Stephen was glad they didn't look particularly treelike. Everyone had their eyes fixed on the Tree of Protection in expectation. The light from the torches seemed to have dimmed with the waxing of the moonlight, but this might have been some curious trick played on the eyes. As they looked at the trunk of the Tree a woman's form was outlined in a glowing line. Stephen imagined he could see the body emerging in relief from the trunk. She reached her arms over her head and stretched them, as if she was parting a curtain. Then, in a moment, a woman was standing before the trunk, draped in pale green garments. Her hair was blond and long. On her head was a crown of laurel leaves. Stephen's heart pounded as he recognized her from his visions.

The nymphs began a slow and carefully measured dance. It could have belonged to some antique court where formality and delicacy were of paramount value. No music was played; it would somehow have intruded on the solemnity of the movement. The nymphs formed a circle. They reached one hand high so the hands all touched in the center. Around this center the nymphs turned, taking precise steps. The dance made Stephen think of the rotation of the starry sky around the earth. The nymphs then broke away and each began a solo dance still spinning in synchrony with the others. When they spiraled to the ground they came to rest at last and the dance was over. Stephen could hear deep sighs of appreciation from the audience but there was no applause and little speaking.

The faun Rufus urged Stephen to come forward to meet the nymph of the Tree of Protection. "You are the special guest of this gathering." Two of the nymphs who had danced approached Stephen. Laughing and smiling but saying nothing they took him by both his hands and brought him before the nymph.

"Many humans have come to the Tree but few have been greeted by me. I am Alma." Her eyes flashed a bright green. Stephen recognized her face as the one he saw in the courtyard of Cair Paravel.

If he had thought about what he should say he would have been tongue-tied. Instead, he said with surprise and delight, "I know you, I mean, I've seen you before."

"You have a special gift. My disguise could not fool you. And I know a great deal about you, young human. I have been at Cair Paravel to watch you when I could."

It caused Stephen a twinge of pain to hear the expression 'young human'. It only served to make him feel different. "You were at the banquet, weren't you? I could feel someone watching me."

"Yes. And I have spoken to the Talking Animals about you. They know better than all others what occurs within the borders of Narnia."

"I saw you in visions. It's hard to explain but it's why I wanted to come to Narnia."

"Then there's a special connection between us." She smiled indulgently to see how he looked at her with eyes of adoration.

Stephen's heart fluttered. He nodded thankfully. "But what I mean is, I think there's a reason I'm in Narnia and it has to do with you."

"Isn't dancing with me a good enough reason to be in Narnia?" she said lightly. Stephen was caught speechless. She laughed. "I am only teasing you."

"Oh."

She looked at him with her lively eyes, as if she was expecting him to say something or do something. He edged forward. She reached out her hand to grasp his. Her skin felt smooth and cool. "Tonight you shall not worry about the problems of Narnia. Tonight you will dance!" They took their places for a dance and the music, as if by some invisible cue on her part, began. Stephen couldn't remember later how he managed to execute the steps properly. Something of the nymph's grace must have transferred to him, but he didn't think about it at all. His head was filled with joy and all else was banished.

All too soon, Alma separated from him. Stephen danced in the circles and the squares, and with nymphs as partners, but his eyes kept straying to Alma. She was mingling with all those in attendance, stopping to converse with friends. Although Stephen knew it was ridiculous, he was viewing with jealousy all the time she spent with others.

A nymph brought him a silver goblet filled with a clear liquid that had a pale yellow color. He expected it to taste like apple juice but it was far subtler. There was only a hint of the sweetness of fruit.

Alma appeared again at his side. "I hope I am not keeping you from the company of the young nymphs you seem to favor."

He shook his head vigorously and she laughed. Of course, he knew she was only teasing. It occurred to him then how old she must be. She was there from the beginning of Narnia. He couldn't help feeling disappointed.

"What is the matter?"

"I'm so young."

"You could stay here for many years, until you become a young man, if you like," she said with a mischievous grin.

"I suppose I could. I didn't really want to stay, until—until now." He broke off in embarrassment.

She regretted being so light-hearted with him. She gazed at him with genuine affection. "You know, Stephen, you are the first human who has set foot in this glade who has not asked me for the gift of an apple to prolong your life. Why is that?"

"I don't think I really need one. I mean, I don't want to live longer than other people." He paused to think. "You should save them for sick people who really need the help." As he said this Stephen thought of the King.

"You have a generous spirit, Stephen. Even though you and I are very different I am delighted to be your friend."

_Author's note: Alma's name comes from the central Asian wild apple which is apparently the source of the domesticated fruit. 'Alma' is also 'bountiful' in Latin and 'soul' in Spanish._


	14. Chapter 14

"You're going to say you love her." The field mouse stuck his head out of Stephen's saddle bag. In the early morning sunlight the hunters were riding along narrow lanes leading to a field north of the castle.

"Well, I adore her. I can't get her face out of my mind." Stephen's thoughts were still lingering over the dance in the glade, two days before.

"You barely said a dozen words to the Lady of the Apple Tree," Rintivit pointed out.

"Yes, we really didn't need words."

"Don't tell me, they were meaningful silences, then?"

"You're making fun of me."

"Don't be cross. I thought your head would be in such a cloud of bliss it wouldn't bother you at all."

"She seems so queenly when she's talking to others, like a goddess of the woods, but when she looks at me she's like a girl. Is that possible?"

"If you say it's so, it must be so. These nymphs are always the same. It's in their nature, no matter their age."

"She isn't… married, is she?"

"Oh, she has been, to one of the kings, a great many years ago. I don't think she's married now, not to my knowledge. But what do I know about the secret lives of trees?" The mouse looked about to break out in laughter again.

"There's something special between us. Even she said so. You know, until I met her I was feeling that I didn't know what I was doing here."

"And she gave you the answer?"

"No, she didn't tell me a thing, but I don't care anymore. I just want to see her again."

"It's only been two days. How many hours would that be?"

Stephen was dreamily thoughtful for a moment. "Do you think she would, you know, wait for me?"

The mouse chuckled. "What is ten years, or twenty, or a hundred to a tree?"

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

"Alma may wait for you but I'm afraid Narnia will not." Rintivit said this more to himself than to the boy. After a pause the mouse remarked, "Today you'd better have your mind on the hunt and not on your ladyfriend. It's a good thing you had yesterday to sleep late. You don't want to fall off your horse and hurt yourself."

It was an odd thing, Stephen thought, that he seemed to have no difficulty riding a horse. It was as if the horses could understand what he wanted even when he was too awkward to give the right signal with his body. Stephen wondered, too, whether the passage into Narnia had left him entirely unchanged from the boy he was on Earth.

The assembly for the hunt was in a field a short ride from the castle. Here there was open parkland through which the horses could run easily. The woods had been cut down to create grazing land. On the expanse of lawn silk pavilions had been erected to cover the tables where breakfast was served. Castle servants were now preparing food in other tents and cooking it over open fires in the field. As Stephen approached, packs of hounds led by their masters passed him. Their baying seemed to echo all around him. The hounds would be sent ahead to be located at strategic spots to await their turn in chasing the quarry.

Stephen tethered his horse and went to join the others. It had been an excellent idea to bring Rintivit along. Stephen now transferred the rodent to a pouch he slung over his shoulder. If Stephen had been invited to the hunt before his visit to the Tree he would likely have turned it down, but his encounter with Alma had given him a new zest for Narnian life.

Stephen and Rintivit passed by the personal tent belonging to the Chief Minister, as they could tell by the heraldic emblems. With the King unfit to ride in the hunt the Minister was the official host.

"I can't say I'm very happy that you got your invitation directly from the Minister," the mouse whispered. "You can bet that keeping you entertained is not his paramount concern here. If you won't take my advice to stay away you must remain vigilant."

There was loud argument coming from within the tent. In a moment Rengist stalked furiously out the flap. The other guests averted their gaze.

"Well, I can guess what that was about," snorted Rintivit.

"I'm afraid I can't," admitted Stephen.

"Really, you can't? Rengist has to be one of the candidates for the succession. The Chief Minister must have been giving him an earful about that incident at the banquet."

"If Rengist isn't in the royal line, who is he descended from?"

"Oh, some Archenlander. Nobody famous. Not many Archenlanders come here. There's the desert and the mountains. Besides, the superstitious among them think that Narnia is full of dangerous magic, not to mention ferocious Talking Beasts!" Rintivit laughed, then had to control himself to avoid attracting attention.

Under the silk tent Stephen observed that there were many nymphs seated at the tables. He told Rintivit, "I can't believe they care much about the hunt."

"No," the mouse agreed. "They are not likely to ride very far. They come to flirt and to gossip. To them it's the same as a banquet or party. There's also the opportunity to show off their fashionable dresses, their ridiculous hats and headdresses, and their jewelry. They only wear such fripperies when they are guests at the palace."

"I like them better in the forest."

Stephen and Rintivit breakfasted quickly and did not linger in the tent.

Outside the pavilion William looked up and was startled to see Stephen approaching. William didn't expect to see him here and thought, it isn't fair, I haven't had time to think of how I'm going to deal with him. I must look guilty, like I'm hiding something, because he keeps staring at me.

"I didn't think you were interested in hunting," William managed to say, still looking uncomfortable.

"I'm not, but I was invited by the Chief Minister and I didn't think it was polite to say no."

William was going to remark that it wasn't a good idea to refuse the Chief Minister, but that reminded him of his own discussion with the Minister and made him feel more awkward. "It should be a great hunt. The head huntsman spotted a prime red hart with a massive head of antlers."

"Your riding must be improving."

"Oh, yes. They say that I'm a natural at it." William noticed that Stephen seemed relaxed and confident.

"Are you really going to stay until you become a knight? Don't you miss home?" Stephen's concern was genuine.

William had hardly thought about home since his arrival. "What's to miss about it? My Dad doesn't miss me, I'd bet. He'd say, 'This is a great career opportunity', and the longer I stayed away the better it suits him."

Stephen felt sorry he had touched upon a sensitive point. He thought it would be best to leave William in peace. William, however, would not let him go.

"You're not asking me about the knighthood. You're thinking of the Throne of Narnia."

"I'm not interested. I don't think either of us should get involved. This isn't our world."

"Powerful people in this country want me to be ruler. They support me. They have confidence in me. I can't disappoint them."

"You're being fooled. They don't care at all about you or what you want to do as King. They're just flattering you. They can't have the Throne for themselves so they want to use you as a figurehead. They'll keep all the real power."

William was taken aback. This argument was too credible. William could see his sense of purpose crumbling away like a slope in a landslide. He could not allow this to happen. He was seething with a need to strike back in some way, but all he could think of to say was, "You're only trying to discourage me because you're lying about your own intentions!"

"You want the Crown? You can have it! See if I care."

"If I don't get the Crown you can be sure that I'll do whatever it takes to stop you from getting it."

Stephen pulled himself sharply away. He felt his ears burning but there was nothing left to say. William had made the final threat so venomously that Stephen thought this parting sounded final. He doubted they would speak to each other again in Narnia.


	15. Chapter 15

The hunting party soon took their positions on the field. The serious hunters were carrying spears. There were not many dwarves invited but those present were mounted on their ponies. The fauns and satyrs, with their aversion to riding a hoofed beast, did not join in the hunt and remained by the tents waiting for the game to be brought back. At last the huntsman gave the signal on his horn and they set off.

The huntsman led the chase to where the deer had most recently been spotted. Everyone did their best to follow. When the hounds picked up the scent the pace quickened. The party streamed through the forest, crossing brooks and jumping over logs. Stephen fell behind. The baying of the hounds became more and more distant. He could barely hear the horn calls of the huntsman. Rintivit said, "I don't know what those calls mean. I'm not much of a hunter myself."

"No offence, but I hadn't really been counting on it," said Stephen.

William, too, had fallen off the pace. He cursed his horse. It had looked agile and lively in the stable but it was stubborn and unresponsive under him. The courser suddenly whinnied in pain and reared up. William was thrown backwards. The horse leapt ahead into a gallop, leaving his rider dazed in the tall grass. William was fortunate not to have broken bones, or worse.

Within minutes another member of the hunting party arrived to offer assistance. It was Sir Galoren. William thanked his luck that it was anyone but Stephen. "I can't understand what frightened the horse," said William, wincing from the pain of standing up.

"Perhaps this explains it." Galoren reached into the long grass and pulled up an arrow. There was no arrowhead on it but the shaft had been sharpened to a point. William turned his head swiftly to look in the direction the arrow might have come from but he did not expect to see anyone and he did not.

Stephen was pretty certain that there was no chance of catching up with the lead pack. He was about to turn back when he heard the loud barking of some dogs. He caught a glimpse of two riders ahead of him and he urged his horse to a faster canter to close the distance. On a white palfrey was a nymph. Beside her was a river god, judging from his long mane of dark hair. Stephen shouted after them, asking what they were chasing. They did not know. They were laughing so merrily they did not seem to care. Stephen could see, some distance off and headed in the same direction, a centaur.

Going through denser forest the riders had to weave a path between trees. They had to judge the direction of the hounds and hope their path did not turn astray. When they emerged to more open parkland Stephen could see four hounds. They had caught the scent of a fox and were now hard on its heels. The red fur, the bushy tail, and the white chest were unmistakeable.

The fox was exhausted. It dashed into a thicket. Stephen looked for a route to follow. He realized now that the nymph and her companion had no weapons. They had not seriously considered being present at the end of a chase. Stephen fumbled to release his own bow. Stephen could tell that the dogs had ceased running; their barking came from one spot. Stephen came to a stop as close as he could. Between two fallen logs, with a tangle of bushes all around, the fox was being held at bay by the dogs.

The nymph and the river god seemed shocked that they were expected to deal with the situation. They sat on their mounts and watched helplessly. The fox was panting, its chest visibly heaving. The snarling dogs circled. Stephen pulled out an arrow and tried to fit it to the bowstring. He was aware of other hooves approaching. Stephen knew that there were commands the dogs were trained to obey to stay back but he had no idea what the words were.

The fox turned to Stephen and said, "Notwithstanding the family resemblance, I would prefer that you kill me. And be quick about it!"

Before Stephen could take aim and release the arrow, one of the hounds sprang forward and seized the fox by the back of the neck. This was the signal for the other hounds to surge forward and seize their quarry. At this moment Stephen heard the twang of a bowstring. A long arrow struck through the body of the fox. The centaur's shot had to be nearly perfect and it was. The slavering jaws of the dogs tore into the unresisting body of the fox as they fought over it in a furious chaos of flying, bloody fur.

Stephen turned away and couldn't look. He felt physically sickened. His body shook with sobbing breaths but he had no tears. His hands were shaking so much he could barely return his arrow to the quiver. Stephen heard the deep breaths of the centaur beside him.

A moment later a dwarf arrived in the thicket and dismounted from his pony. He snapped commands at the hounds but they did not visibly obey him. He had to slap them and drag them back forcibly by their collars before they would drop the fox and acknowledge the dwarf's control. It was Stephen's impression that the dwarf took the business to be routine, as if he was throwing out garbage or some other household chore. The dwarf did not seem to think he owed any explanation to those at the scene. Perhaps this was the sort of thing to be expected now and then from a hunt. Stephen turned aside and offered a hoarse thanks to the centaur before he rode away. He saw at a glance that the river god was comforting the nymph. Stephen felt drained of emotions. On the ride back Rintivit did not speak the entire time.

As they neared the pavilion, Stephen met a train of riders and palace servants on foot. He was struck by how somber they were. On one horse it looked like a body of a man had been tied across the saddle. His head and torso were hidden by a cloak. Stephen searched for someone to provide him with an explanation. He saw Sir Galoren following a bit behind.

"Who is that man?" Stephen asked.

"He is a member of the Palace Guard, or rather, he was. You would not know him by name. There is only one attribute of his you need to know—he was a man. He was by no means renowned or high ranking, but he was a loyal servant of the King. Perhaps that was enough to have someone think he was a rival. They found the body in the middle of a stream, not far from here. He has drowned. His horse has not been found."

A satyr from the palace said,"It is likely then that the horse threw him, he fell into the stream and drowned."

"On the man's temple we found a mark. It could have occurred when he fell. He might have struck his head on a stone in the stream bed. Or it could have been from a blow that sent him off his horse. Between you and me I think that not everything hunted today walked on four legs."

"Be careful who you tell those fanciful suspicions to," warned the satyr.

Stephen passed by the silk pavilion. He did not intend to stay. The cooks were now preparing a feast. Soon, he expected, the deer that had been hunted would be brought back. Stephen rode for the castle.

_Author's note: I realized on re-reading _Prince Caspian_ that my river gods aren't quite the same as Lewis's. You could assume that they were capable of taking on more than one appearance. Lewis says that humans married them, so they had to look passeably human. _


	16. Chapter 16

Stephen was rigid in his seat. His white hands were clamped on to the arms of the chair. He no longer saw what was in the room. His eyes were filled with blackness.

He was looking up into the blackened sky over Narnia. He could barely discern a swirling motion. Then his face felt little stings, and touches of cold, and Stephen realized it was snowing. He felt himself stumbling forward in the darkness. His feet had lost feeling. They were like lead weights attached to his legs. A cold wind blew up from behind and would not cease. It was as if he was being prodded on by jagged blades of ice. Stephen saw other figures all around him pushing forward through the thick woods. He knew somehow that this was the White Witch's army. He did not want to look at the soldiers beside him. He knew they were dwarves, werewolves, goblins and other foul spirits, either attracted to her power or summoned by her magic.With every step they took into the forests the cold of the north followed them. A terrible and sudden winter had struck the land. The green leaves were blasted off the trees. Woodland animals crept into the deepest, snuggest corners of their burrows.

The sky was ashen grey and the ocean breeze was chill. Stephen knew it was the morning two days later. The army had reached Cair Paravel. Not a creature was in sight. Through the arched windows it was possible to see curtains and tapestries, hanging lanterns and furniture. It was as if the inhabitants had stolen away in the night, leaving everything in silent readiness. Stephen could sense the presence of the Witch but he could not see her. He felt uncertainty and hesitation but it was not his own, it was that of the Witch's followers. They stood before the massive stone arch leading to the courtyard. The familiar iron gate was pulled up but in its place, blocking the entrance, was a gate of slender silver rods set in the stone arch. This was something new to Stephen. The silver seemed newly cast, untarnished and gleaming. As he looked, letters of quicksilver seemed to form over the gate. They read, "Here stands Cair Paravel empty as it awaits the coming of the two Kings and the two Queens. None may disturb its silence." Mysteriously as the words appeared, they vanished.

Stephen knew that the White Witch was uttering spells of opening in some ugly language that none in Narnia could have understood but he could not hear her voice. All he could hear was the sound of the waves coming to shore and the wind ruffling the flags on the castle towers. Stephen saw that the spells did not change the silver gate in the least. All the shrill fury she could muster amounted to nothing.

An ogre stepped forward and took a mighty swing at the silver gate with his hammer. It was a blow that could have crushed a human knight like an eggshell but it did not smash or even dent the gate. The silver rods vibrated from the force of the blow. In a few seconds the ogre was clutching his ears in pain. Stephen knew that there was a ringing sound, so loud and sustained that it was painful, although he could not hear it himself. The White Witch and all her followers were brought to their knees by the simple, metallic ringing. Then it gradually died off and there was silence again.

Stephen felt himself floating towards the castle. As he reached the wall, it seemed to become transparent or melt away and Stephen continued to float forward through the wall or where the wall had been. He saw an opened door that he was familiar with and he entered the Great Hall. There at the western end on the raised platform were four thrones in a line. Two were of one design and two were of another, and one was slightly larger than the others.

Stephen snapped out of the spell with a start. He was shivering. His hands and feet felt numb. He was surprised he could not see his breath in the air. The White Witch's army will invade Narnia, he thought. They will filter through the woods and find their way to Cair Paravel. But that could only happen if the Tree were not there. A horrible fear seized him. He felt as if the breath had been sucked out of him. "Oh, no," he said in a barely audible voice.

Stephen ran on unsteady legs to the Office of Records where he knew he could find Rintivit. He felt an urgent need to share his latest vision. He needed to hear the rational, thoughtful reassurances that only the mouse could provide him with.


	17. Chapter 17

The talk of Cair Paravel that morning was the posters that had appeared overnight all over the castle. They had been nailed to doors and wooden posts. Some of the courtiers were angrily denouncing the contents but most of those gathered around reading spoke in hushed tones. They were keeping their thoughts to themselves or for the ears of their friends. Stephen took one down and read it. Rintivit had already told him of his plan to write a protest document and have it posted all around the kingdom. Having listened to Rintivit at length, nothing in the document surprised him. All that he had said about his visions found its way into the mouse's writing. It was signed "Friends of the Lion". Stephen chanced a small smile of pleasure, knowing that his friends who had accompanied him to the Tree of Protection, among others, called themselves that. They had helped make the copies, nail them up and distribute them. At the bottom in larger letters was an announcement of speeches, the first being that evening at the tavern in the village.

The inn served travelers with business in or near Cair Paravel but who were not fortunate enough to be guests of the castle. When Stephen entered the tavern, shortly before the appointed hour, the tables were almost all occupied. The patrons included old satyrs, dressed for laboring work, who gripped their mugs in red and calloused hands. There were beavers and badgers having an ale after a day of work. Four fauns—two young couples, Stephen thought—seemed unaware that a political speech was about to take place. Many other Talking Animals were present. Stephen spotted Tumully the beaver, the badger named Gravencris, and the faun Rufus with what looked like his wife. Stephen guessed that the other animals were 'Friends of the Lion' or supporters.

In a dim corner of the tavern, slightly apart from the others, was a company of dwarves. They might have been guests at the inn. Their faces were weather-worn and deeply creased. Their beards flowed down to their laps. The drab travel garments they wore did not entirely conceal evidence of finery: a gold bracelet, a fur collar, and a gold chain. Stephen suspected that they might be chiefs and nobles among their own people. Perhaps they had made the journey from the mines in the northern hills.

Stephen heard a sharp voice at his left calf. "A good crowd," Rintivit said gleefully. "They'll listen to my message."

"You're going to make the speech then?" Stephen asked. The mouse nodded enthusiastically.

Rintivit indicated a table and Stephen helped him jump up. "Ick!" exclaimed the mouse. "Young lady, I'll have you wipe up this spill immediately! It's bad enough that you have black stains on these tables that go back to your grandmother's time but a patron shouldn't get his feet sticky walking on them."

"Most of our patrons don't walk on the tables," the serving girl muttered, but she cleaned the spill all the same.

Rintivit stroked his whiskers. It was the only sign of nervousness he showed. He dipped his muzzle into a tiny shot glass of water. Then he stood ready to address the crowd. "Silence! We want to hear the speech," cried the Talking Animals. The other patrons looked on in some bemusement but were prepared to listen.

Rintivit began. "I ask that you recall those few, simple words that Aslan left the new King and Queen of Narnia with, on that day when they were crowned. He told them they must remember that Talking Beasts are not dumb animals and must not be treated as slaves. The Talking Beasts are free and full citizens of Narnia. He asked that they treat all the speaking creatures of Narnia as equal and not favor one folk over another. All have a right to shape the future of Narnia. The Kings and Queens were to stay ever vigilant and defend all the peoples of Narnia against any common enemy. They can only do this by remaining unified and committed to fighting alongside one another. They must be willing to take up arms for the defense of any. I ask you, my friends, are these instructions too complex to understand, too long to remember, too difficult to achieve?

"Yet are we living now as Aslan commanded? We cannot say 'yes' and call ourselves honest. I say that we have forgotten Aslan's commandments. Why have we done so? How could we? I will tell you what is at the root of our rebellion. It is because we have turned our backs on Aslan himself and rejected him. That is the bitter truth. Because he has not been seen on our soil in living memory you tell yourselves that he no longer exists. He never existed. This is what you have convinced yourselves, you Narnians who have so little faith. You cannot even believe the words of your ancestors who were there to witness the first days of Narnia. Did they lie to you?

"I say 'seen' because there is no reason why the Lion could not have chosen to remain hidden from our sight as he watched over us and learned of the decline of the kingdom he created. I assure you that nothing has escaped his attention!

"I address myself to the leaders of Narnia, you arrogant people entrusted with power. You depend on lies and deceit to keep yourselves safe. Aslan expected you to do what was good, but instead you commit murder. He expected you to do what was right but you oppress our people. That is how you keep the poor and the Talking Beasts from having their rights and from getting justice. You have plundered farmyards and your houses are full of what you have taken from the poor. Do not laugh at the warning I am giving you!

"It is not too late! I would not give you this warning if you cannot avoid your doom. Stop all this evil that I see you doing. See that justice is done. Narnia can still be saved from disaster if all the peoples are united against the White Witch. They must forget their differences and put Narnia's interests above their own. But the time is almost gone.

"People of Narnia, you must join together to alter the destiny of your land! If enough of you will speak as one your voice will be heard. It is not too late even now to force your leaders to do what is right!

"The leaders of Narnia will be brought to judgment. On that day everyone who is powerful, everyone who is proud and conceited, will be humbled. They are doomed and they have brought it upon themselves. They have abandoned Aslan and he will abandon them.

"When that day comes the army of the White Witch will roar over the land as loudly as the storm. Look at this country on that day! All you will see is darkness and distress! The light of Narnia will be swallowed by darkness. The foul creatures of the North will advance like the winter storms. They will sweep through Narnia as a cold wind, bringing eternal winter and covering everything in ice and snow. The leaders will pray to Aslan for relief but he will not listen to them for their hands are covered in blood.

"All these big, fine houses will be empty ruins. All the hills where crops were once planted will be smothered in snow. No one will go there. Cair Paravel will be abandoned and the villages deserted. Narnia will be like a tree bereft of fruit. The people will mourn and cry. They will weep because of the troubles they suffer. They will weep when they remember the fine food they used to eat. Their tears will fall because there is no harvest to make the people glad.

"But at last the punishment for the Narnians will be done. They will be purified by their suffering; their guilt will be washed away. They will turn to Aslan and he will hear their prayers and heal them of the wounds that have been inflicted upon them. Aslan has not forgotten you! Can a woman forget her own baby and not love the child she bore?

"Someday the people who walked in darkness will see a great light. They lived in a land of shadows, but a light will shine on them. Aslan will break the yoke that burdened them and the rod that beat their shoulders. The cruel queen will fall. Aslan will defeat the one that oppressed and exploited them. New kings and queens will come in triumph. Their swords will strike down their enemies as if they were dust. Their arrows will scatter the foes like straw before the wind. They will give the people great joy.

"The new kings and queens will have the wisdom, the knowledge and skill to rule the peoples of Narnia. They will judge the poor fairly and defend the rights of the helpless. They will rule with justice and integrity. Their ears and eyes will be open to the needs of all the peoples.

"Blessings will pour down on your descendants. They will thrive like a well-watered lawn. Now at last the whole land enjoys rest and peace and everyone sings for joy. Your homes will be peaceful and safe. Your lands will be a fruitful garden once again."

As Rintivit's speech was nearing its conclusion, Stephen noticed the faun at the door and the squad of Palace Guards behind him.

When Rintivit had said his last words and bowed to let his audience know he was finished, he was greeted with silence. Stephen had expected the Talking Animals that came to support Rintivit to applaud loudly, but as he surveyed the room all he saw were expressions that ranged from sorrow to dread. Rintivit's message had been so dire and convincing that it affected even those who knew roughly what he was going to say. It was as if the silence was one of mourning for the passing of Narnia as they knew it. Any further reaction was cut off by the entrance of the faun leading the Guards. Immediately some of the animals rose from their seats but Rintivit silently signaled for them to remain seated.

"I hereby place you under arrest," the faun announced, standing by Rintivit's table and staring down at the rodent. Palace Guards took up positions surrounding the table.

"On what charges?" Rintivit shot back.

"On charges of inciting treason against the Government of Narnia and demoralizing the populace by spreading false rumors."

"Well, I hope you've brought a suitable set of chains to take me away in."

"Wait, don't arrest him." Stephen stood up and came forward. "Everything he's said tonight came from me. He may have spoken the words but the ideas are mine." Stephen looked directly at the faun. "Besides, I know I'm the one you really want. I'll save you the trouble if you let my friend go."

The faun was only too happy to be able to report this success to his superiors. "Very well, if you wish." He motioned to the Guards to arrest Stephen.

"You can't do this to me!" cried Rintivit. "I deserve to be arrested!" But the Guards, with Stephen between them, were already exiting the room.

_Author's note: This is not an allegory. It may echo or resemble other stories but it does not represent them._

_Re-reading _Prince Caspian_ I get the impression that Lewis thought there was no farming in Narnia until the time of the Telmarines. I just find it improbable that there could be an army, the construction of a castle, all those diplomatic missions, etc. when people have to scavenge for nuts and berries._


	18. Chapter 18

"Well, I suppose it was a noble gesture and I thank you." Rintivit stood in the castle courtyard speaking down into the darkness of the dungeon cell. The grille in the cell's window was only wide enough to allow Rintivit to poke his muzzle through and speak. "Why did you do it?"

"You're welcome," said Stephen from down in the darkness. "I don't know. I pictured you in chains and I couldn't hold back." He paused, a little embarrassed. "Anyway, what I said about the speech was true."

"I agree, but the words were neither yours or mine. I was only giving voice to them. They came from…somewhere else." The mouse's voice had a note of puzzlement and wonder.

The prison cell was tiny but bearable. This was, after all, Cair Paravel and not the White Witch's fortress. There was one small window high in the wall that was at ground level in the courtyard. Stephen's friends found his cell early the next day.

"I was wondering why they didn't arrest you as well."

The mouse was indignant. "I suppose they still could. They think that I'm harmless. I'll show them who's harmless. I'll be going to all corners of the kingdom, making speeches and talking to influential people, not just animals, you understand. I'm only afraid that time is running short.

"That's why I came to speak to you. The political situation in the palace is reaching the crisis point. I've heard that the King's condition has taken a turn for the worse. He has not been seen on the throne for days. They say that only the Royal Physician and the Chief Minister have been admitted to see him. I'd better brief you on my understanding of the situation, in case you—when you get out."

"All right, go on."

"First, the satyrs. They hold a good deal of power in the palace. Likely they would not care very much who succeeds so long as their power is not threatened. They would throw their support to whoever is likeliest to win. A while back that might have been you, but—considering present circumstances—" Rintivit looked down at the cell.

"Yes, I understand."

"If the satyrs feel you listen too closely to the Talking Animals—me, in other words—there's the fear that you would blame them for Narnia's woes and want to institute reforms. That's not acceptable to them.

"Now, about the centaurs. After the killing of Althus at the banquet they can't support Rengist or William. It's not that they care very much about Althus—he was generally regarded as a hot-headed fool—but his family is influential. The centaurs resent the power of the Chief Minister. They may support a different choice to thwart his plans and topple him from power. Of course, some of the centaurs are in the army and--"

"Stop, please. This isn't helping. It makes my head spin."

"You know, you are perfectly right. There are too many possible motives. The situation is as clear as mud. I don't suppose there's a point in discussing it. We won't know who's on whose side until it comes down to drawing swords."

"I don't want anyone to draw a sword."

"Nor do I but that is where we are headed."

"Rintivit, why is Narnia falling into chaos and crisis?"

"I don't know, my friend. Narnia is no longer young."

"Will I get a trial?"

"A trial?" Rintivit began to guffaw but choked it off. "I'm afraid you shouldn't hold out much hope for a trial any time soon. I don't suppose they would consider a trial until you no longer mattered."

Stephen should have felt crushed by the prospect of an indefinite stay in the prison cell but he was not. Like the glow of a faint light in a darkened room he kept alive an unlikely nugget of hope. Getting arrested was an impulsive move but he knew it was the right one. In the unheated dungeon a surge of warmth ran through his body. He had never felt more sure of himself and this gave him hope and determination.

There was another reason for him to feel hopeful. What struck Stephen about Rintivit's speech was the mouse's passionate conviction that Narnia could still avoid its calamity. That was what he needed to hear. He repeated it to himself over and over. It meant that Alma was not doomed. Of course, the mouse had argued with him very reasonably and at great length to make that very point. The mouse told him that if he believed that Aslan meant for him to come to Narnia and warn the people of their future, then it was pointless unless that future was still to be decided.

After Rintivit left, the day dragged on. It wasn't a good idea for Stephen to have more conversations for now. His prison keepers might notice and move him to a less convenient cell. Stephen wished he could conquer his impatience.

That night he slept restlessly on the narrow bench, trying to obtain some warmth from the thin, scratchy blanket. There was an annoying scraping noise coming from beneath the stones of the floor that woke him from time to time and made it difficult to get back to sleep. Before dawn he woke up again. What _was_ that noise, he asked. He wrapped the blanket around his body and squatted on the floor. He listened carefully. Those were surely footsteps, he thought. The grinding and scraping must be the stones being worked loose. Goodness, someone was breaking into the cell from below!

Light shone through the cracks around a stone. The stone was jiggled and then pulled below. The light coming through the opening seemed bright to Stephen's eyes accustomed to the dark.

"Hallo," said Stephen. "Who's down there?"

A couple of voices spoke excitedly but indistinctly to one another below. Then there came a gruff voice, "Shush, there'll be time for gabbing later. Let us finish the job."

Stephen sat back on the bench and quickly dressed. Finally, three more stones were removed and a head popped through the rectangular opening. It was a wide head with curly red hair.

"Why, you're one of the dwarves I saw at the tavern yesterday," said Stephen.

"Indeed. I think the opening is wide enough for you to squeeze through. We shouldn't delay."

"Wait, if I escape that would make me a fugitive from justice."

"If you want to stay here and rot, suit yourself."

"I'll do nothing of the sort." And Stephen climbed down the hole. "Oh, and thank you for rescuing me."

Three dwarves were standing in a stone-lined corridor. "Groffkin at your service, young man," said the red-haired dwarf. "And these are my cousins Oaknash and Dwallior." Stephen greeted them and introduced himself. The four of them were soon in the maze of passageways under the castle. Groffkin led the way holding a lantern and Dwallior trailed carrying another.

"This is amazing! Why are there all these tunnels down here?" asked Stephen.

Groffkin was surprised. "All castles have secret tunnels underneath them," he said matter-of-factly.

The dwarves came to a place where there was a secret doorway. Groffkin opened a wooden door that appeared ordinary. Worked into the metal hinge of the doorway was a hidden lock mechanism. Groffkin pressed it and there was a click. Part of the adjacent stone wall pivoted inward. The dwarf said, "Now we leave the castle and enter a tunnel that will lead us beyond the walls."

"Am I allowed to ask how you know about these secret passages?" said Stephen.

"Our forefathers built Cair Paravel stone by stone, hundreds of years ago. Oh, yes, don't act so surprised! Who else was going to do it, the fauns? I will gladly tell you the tale, and from the dwarves' point of view! We will have a good long council in the morning but now we must make haste."

It seemed a long trudge underground to Stephen. After only a few minutes he found the stone walls endless. Ahead was blackness and behind was the same. The dwarves really seem to enjoy it down here, Stephen noted. I hope they won't start to sing.

Finally Groffkin stopped. They had reached the secret entrance at the end of the tunnel. He blew out his lantern. There was still a bright enough flame in Dwallior's lantern to see that the door was concave outward. Groffkin unlocked the door and swung it open. On his right, in familiar positions, were a hand hold and a foot hold, spaced conveniently for a dwarf. Groffkin stepped over the threshold and hoisted himself up almost gracefully. "Mind you get a secure step and a firm grip before you step through. It's a long plunge down and a wet one!" One of the dwarves directed this advice to Stephen. It was only then that Stephen realized the entrance had been ingeniously incorporated into a well. He took his turn climbing out of the well, assisted by a powerful pull from Groffkin.

"The others left the inn earlier today," Groffkin explained to Stephen. "They have joined the camp we set up some miles from here. Let us not dawdle. We need to be under cover of the woods before light of day."

_Author's note: Without thinking about it, I've been using Tolkien's "dwarves" instead of Lewis's "dwarfs". Oh, well._


	19. Chapter 19

William and the Chief Minister were in attendance on the King in his private chambers. The King motioned for the Royal Physician to leave the room. William could barely suppress his nervous excitement. For what other reason could the King have called William and his mentor, the Chief Minister, to his sickbed at this time than to announce that he, William, was destined to be the next King? He felt as if he was being carried along on top a huge wave. He reminded himself to breathe deeply. He had to keep his wits about him and not allow his euphoria to cause him to do or say anything foolish.William's eyes roved the room as he waited. This is much too small to be the bed chamber of the King, he thought. It's so dark and dreary in here. Those wretched tapestries must go.

The King was lying flat in his bed. "Chief Minister, please come closer. I don't have the strength to speak louder and, I daresay, your hearing isn't as good as it used to be." The Chief Minister pulled a stool by the King's bedside and sat down. The King continued. "You must be expecting that I will name my successor. The time is indeed running short. You deserve an explanation why I will not.

"It cannot be a great secret to you that my preference is to name the young outsider, Stephen. I cannot do so at present because he is sitting in one of my prison cells charged with inciting treason. The charge is serious enough that I cannot intervene in the case. I am not above the law of Narnia. I am afraid that there is no candidate who both deserves the Crown based on his own merits and who would rally enough support to withstand challenges from others. I would not plunge Narnia into chaos and civil war by my choice. So you see, my dear Minister, there is simply no good choice. Therefore I have decided not to make a choice at all. I am sorry to disappoint you and your young protégé. You, no doubt, think this a very foolish move, and perhaps history, if there are any historians left in after days to record our history, will agree with you. I leave the fate of Narnia on the shoulders of Aslan. I put my faith in the Lion to protect this land which I treasure. Yes, we need him to rescue us from ourselves. I have prayed to him these days and nights. I have not heard his voice or seen his face but I feel he is not far from this world and we are not far from his thoughts. I am a stubborn old man, my dear Minister, and that is my decision."

The Chief Minister mumbled, "Your wish is my command, your Highness," and withdrew from the bedside noiselessly. He made a fierce gesture with his arm for William to follow him.

"Did you see how that good Dr Elestis was watching us?" the Chief Minister grumbled in vexation as he stormed through the corridor. William had never seen the old satyr move so swiftly before. "He was no doubt eavesdropping in the adjacent chamber. He never leaves me alone with the King for more than a few moments. He's always hovering about, pretending to be doing something of medical use. Does he think that I plan to strangle the King with my bare hands?" William could not understand why the Minister was complaining so vociferously against a figure he considered harmless, if he considered him at all.

The Minister stopped abruptly and laid a thick hand on William's shoulder. "I tell you that until there is a new king sitting on the throne the game is not up. We have not played all our cards." William was still absorbing the disappointment of being rejected by the King. It was a shock, like being slapped in the face, but his faith in the Chief Minister's power and his political skill meant that his hopes had not fallen.

Later that morning came more disappointing news. It was discovered that Stephen had vanished from his cell. The passages under the dungeon were clear enough but no one knew where the exits were. The castle was thoroughly searched by the Palace Guards but to no avail.

"I thought the little fool had played into our hands with that bit of gallantry," fumed the Chief Minister. "I was sure he would be out of the picture. It seems he has more allies than those Talking Animal friends of his. Now that he is free of the castle I expect he will try to gather an armed force against us. What have you to say to that? Nothing, eh?"

William had said very little. He looked glum and was pacing back and forth. He could sense his high hopes coming unraveled.

Even while the search was proceeding, General Caius, commander of the Narnian army was asking for an urgent audience with the Chief Minister. He reported that some of his regular troops were missing from their barracks, as were two officers. He had heard the rumor, but could not confirm it, that these men were setting up their own camp north of Cair Paravel.

"It is mutiny, then. You must send your men to meet them in the field."

Anger and hurt pride distorted the centaur's handsome face. "I regret to inform you that the men would likely not agree to fight their brother soldiers." General Caius looked directly at the Chief Minister, bracing himself for the expected agonizing stroke. But it did not come. The Minister did not allow his wrath to cloud his understanding. He knew from experience to rely on the General's judgment. If he ordered an attack all the rest of Narnia's army might join the mutineers.

The satyr slumped into a wide, deeply cushioned seat and pondered his options. "Very well. Prepare your men to defend Cair Paravel. It isn't likely the rebels will try to storm the castle but we must certainly be prepared. I want to see who we have on our side, at least for the time being."

Caius nodded. He began to turn away but paused. He looked sternly at the Minister. "Your command will be executed, my lord. The King still lives. When he is no more, each soldier will have to decide where his loyalty lies." William noted sourly that the General refused to even glance in his direction.

When the General had departed the satyr said, "I expect that it is mainly the centaurs that have mutinied. They hate me and would be overjoyed to see my severed head hoisted above the battlements of Cair Paravel."

The torrent of events left William numbed. "You don't think that Stephen is behind this, do you?" he mumbled.

"What's that? No, no, he has no contacts in the army. Whoever is responsible does not want to declare himself openly yet. If he does so now he would be a traitor. He will pick the moment he thinks is best."

In a moment the old satyr had another idea. He sent Palace Guards to the Hall of the Knights of the Silver Apple. They returned with the report that most of the knights had left the castle grounds. They had either ridden or marched out that day, but not in one group.

That news left William brooding over the absence of Rengist. When the Chief Minister had told Rengist, before the hunt, that all deals were off between them he had flown into a rage. William suspected that Rengist was behind the attempt on his life, if that was what it was, and had also killed that Palace Guard. Now where was he and where were his fellow knights?

William resented being called to meet with the Chief Minister, as he had increasingly been the last few days. He learned it was no good to try to get out of it by making up excuses. He preferred the company of the other squires, although of late the time he spent with them seemed less like serious training and more like a diversion from worrying about political schemes. William thought, I'm chained to that loathesome old satyr, whether he ends up in the Great Hall or in the lowliest dungeon. William had read the poster that had gone up in the castle. He didn't know enough Narnian history to know whether all the accusations were true but he couldn't pretend they were all fabrications. He had thrown in his lot with those who held power in the court and he knew they manipulated power for their own ends. It was too late to take another course now. The Minister had staked everything on his ability to sway the King, and his control over most of the King's other advisors. It seemed more likely that the future of the Kingship would be decided by bow, lance and sword. At one time William thought that the Minister was opening the door to power and privilege for him, like the door to a treasury filled with gold and shiny baubles, but now he expected the door opened on an empty room.

William had taken to wearing his mail armor all waking hours, and he carried his sword at his side. Since the hunt he was aware that an assassin could jump out of the shadows and stab him at any time.

"I have a fresh idea," the satyr announced with relish. "William, don't stand there sulking. Come here." William grinned self-mockingly. He could feel the tug on his chain.

The satyr spoke slowly and clearly, as if he was afraid William would not understand. "You are to go to the Tree of Protection. Ask the nymph of the Tree to be granted a silver apple. Legend has it that eating a silver apple will bring you health and longevity. I don't believe in such fairy tales myself. I suppose the nymph still dispenses them to the creatures of the woodland and such wild fauns and centaurs as make up her following. If the nymph agrees, return immediately. You are not to eat the apple! The point is that the common folk of Narnia will take the apple to be a blessing from the Tree. It is a sign that the Tree believes you to be the rightful successor to the Throne. Keep the apple concealed. Some would take it as an affront to the King to openly flaunt the apple, but we will spread the news that you have it. That will stop the traitors in their tracks!"

William was about to take his leave but the satyr still had something on his mind. The Minister was looking downward and not at William as he continued. "There are those who say that the present King's authority was weakened. It was weakened by the rumor that the nymph never granted him an apple when he sought one, shortly after his coronation. That is why he never had an heir and why he spent so much of the last years of his reign in his sickbed."

William grimaced. "The King is an old man. That's a terrible thing to say!"

"I never said it wasn't an ugly rumor."

_Author's note: William is named after William the Conqueror. Stephen isn't named after anyone. In fact, I was trying to pick a name that didn't have any obvious connotations, because I was too lazy to research them._


	20. Chapter 20

Stephen awoke looking up at a canvas tent. For a few seconds he couldn't understand why the sky was that color. Then he remembered crawling into the tent the night before. The dwarves had set up a tidy camp in a clearing in the forest. There were six large tents and two smaller, one of which was Stephen's. A campfire was burning with a dwarf tending to frying meat in a heavy pan. The dwarves that had gone on the expedition to break Stephen out of prison were only now tending to their morning ablutions. There was a horrific sound of dwarves gargling. A dwarf passed by in his red long underwear. Aware of Stephen's inquisitive glance he remarked, "It's a bit nippy out, sleeping in the woods," and Stephen had to agree. The morning was cool and overcast. It had been sunny in Narnia recent days. Stephen was reminded of his last day in England.

Stephen didn't realize how hungry he was until he joined the dwarves for their breakfast around the campfire. Dwarves, Stephen discovered, applied to the task of eating the same steady, relentless energy and enthusiasm they showed in their mining or building work. It was plain but hearty fare. When they were finished the dwarves stayed near the burning embers and hot stones of their fire to smoke their pipes.

"Let me explain why we are here," Groffkin said to Stephen. "These are mostly relatives of mine. Some of us left our homes to be near Cair Paravel weeks ago. It is essential that we be here at this time of uncertainty. We cannot allow the future of Narnia to be decided without us. We have asked for an audience with the King and other, shall we say, key figures in the kingdom. The King granted us a brief interview—."

"And a more gracious, well-spoken old gentleman you couldn't hope to meet," interrupted another dwarf.

"I must tell you," Groffkin continued, ignoring the interruption, "that we do not fully trust any that we met with. Some would make promises in exchange for our axes in battle, but when the fighting is over and we carry our dead back to the hills, what then of those promises?"

A number of voices broke out. "A true Son of Adam could restore Narnia to its glory. You would heal the divisions between the peoples of Narnia. You would make the changes that Narnia needs."

"We are only thinking of the good of the country," added another dwarf.

"You are the only one we trust to treat us fairly," said Dwallior.

"I have to tell you that I don't want to be king. I haven't made a final decision yet." Stephen looked downward. He felt wretched having to disappoint his liberators.

Groffkin spoke again. "There are bonds of kinship that tie dwarves together throughout Narnia but especially in the hill country. You have but to ask and I can call down hundreds of fit and hardy warriors for your cause."

"No, you mustn't do that," cried Stephen in alarm. "That would provoke open civil war. That's the last thing you should do. You need to stay hidden here and wait."

"I promised to tell you about the building of Cair Paravel," said Groffkin. "Yes, we dwarves are responsible for every stone of it, and it is our crowning achievement in construction. You can well imagine the years of labor that went into it, not to mention the precision of the workmanship and the audacity of the design. I don't know who was prouder when it was finished, the King or the dwarves.

"But that was the beginning of our disputes with the rulers of Narnia. The King had no gold, silver or jewels to speak of. We dwarves would not work for nuts and berries! The King granted us tracts of land in the hill country to the north, for which I and my family are still grateful, but to seal the bargain he promised our ancestors silver apples from the Tree of Protection. The tree nymph objected to her apples being used as currency. Thus that part of the bargain was never fulfilled. Many vowed to quit Narnia. They marched north to offer their services to the White Witch."

"We have built many fine mansions for the lords and ladies of Cair Paravel," Dwallior began. "Yet all that is forgotten. The courtiers adorn their wives and daughters and mistresses with fine gold trinkets and sparkling stones. These were dug from the hills by the sweat of the dwarves and fashioned by the skill of our hands. But we have been robbed of our fair rewards."

Stephen couldn't help thinking that these particular dwarves didn't look to have done too badly for themselves. Without cover of cloaks Stephen could plainly see the gold and silver pendants and bracelets they wore, and the quality of their leather boots and belts.

"We wish to present you with a gift, whether you choose to lead Narnia or not," announced Groffkin. A dwarf brought forward a sword properly proportioned for the boy. It was slender and sharp, and mirror bright. Stephen's eyes lit up. He had never had much of a taste for weapons. He was well aware of Groffkin's appraising eyes on him. "Draw it forth. Feel its superb balance. Yes, it is a pretty thing. When you swing it, it will hum a deadly tune." Stephen did as Groffkin suggested. The sword leaped through the air as if it had a life of its own. Stephen could begin to feel the power that such objects had over the minds of dwarves. Even with his shallow knowledge of Narnia he knew that a sword made by the dwarf smiths was a gift fit for, well, for a king. He wished he could possess this thing. He wanted to hang it on his wall so that he could admire the golden gleam of the pommel whenever he felt the urge. But he was wary of making deals with the dwarves.

"King Aurelian is still alive. There is no need for a successor yet. I'm afraid that is all I have to say." There was some stifled grumbling from Stephen's hosts. Stephen was considering that it would be better for him to become King than to have William become King, if it came to that, but he didn't want to tell the dwarves.

That afternoon Groffkin sent two spies back to the village to find out the latest news from Cair Paravel. Thus they heard about the mutiny of the Narnian army and the presence of an armed camp somewhere to their east.

Groffkin ordered that the campfire be smothered so that it would give off no more smoke and had the tents struck to make their camp less visible. To make a point, Stephen thought, the dwarves began fencing exercises using sticks. Stephen was aware of the dwarves' famous prowess with their two-handed battle axes. The dwarves had the strength to twirl these with frightful speed, so that the narrow axehead would crash through armor, flesh and bone.

Late afternoon saw the dwarves sitting in their long traveling cloaks, trying to keep warm without a fire. Two of the dwarves were sent to reconnoiter the ground to their east, to either locate the mutineers' camp or to discover that it was not close. There was not much for the others to do other than wait. The sky darkened and a chill wind picked up. "It's a cold wind from the north," mentioned Dwallior.

A rook landed by Stephen. Dwallior shooed it away. The black bird fluttered a few feet, landed and began hopping back towards Stephen. Dwallior picked up a stick to threaten it. "Wait, stop," commanded Stephen. He thought from the intelligent way the bird was peering at him that it was likely a Talking Bird.

"Greetings, Son of Adam," said the rook. "I come to bring you news. You see, there are benefits to be had from caring about small animals." It took a dismissive glance over at Dwallior.

"If it's about the army mutiny, we've already heard about that."

"No, but I can tell you where their camp is as well."

"Can you? That would be very helpful, and save time."

"Of course I can. I have more in my head than a pretty tune! But what I came to say is that we, that is, my flock and I, spotted that other Son of Adam riding out of Cair Paravel. He started out west on the road. He was accompanied by four Palace Guards."

"Where do you suppose he was going?"

"That's difficult to say. He was riding rather hard. I don't think he was going far. My guess would be the Tree of Protection."

"Your flock must be keeping a close eye on the land if you know where I am. Does anyone else know?"

"No, and I would not tell them. We Talking Animals know who our friends are."

"You'd better speak to Groffkin over there about the army camp. Oh, and thanks."

"Don't mention it," the rook replied. "This is one of my pleasanter duties. I bet my flock and I will be busy in the coming days." Stephen was not really listening at this point and did not catch this remark.

Stephen searched his mind for a reason why William would ride to the Tree of Protection at this time. A seed of alarm planted itself in his mind and began to grow. William was faced with a hostile rebel army outside Cair Paravel. There was no telling how much loyal support he had within the castle. Stephen himself was free of the prison and his location would not be known. Perhaps William no longer felt that he had a chance to gain the Throne. Stephen remembered the bitter threat William had uttered at their parting. He would do whatever was necessary to prevent Stephen from becoming king. The awful possibility entered Stephen's mind that William might kill the Tree of Protection to ensure that the White Witch would conquer Narnia. Then she would stand victor and all others would lose. Could William have such an insane plan? Stephen remembered the story the Royal Historian had told him about the origins of the White Witch. It was Digory in fact who had recorded the story of the last days of Charn. Was William some pale imitation of Queen Jadis? Once Stephen began thinking along these lines he could not pull himself out by rational argument. He wished he had Rintivit at his side to provide some wise and rational counsel. But the rodent was not there and Stephen felt himself increasingly in the grip of his fears. Stephen approached Groffkin and asked for the use of one of the ponies the dwarves had for carrying supplies.


	21. Chapter 21

William and the four Palace Guards set off from Cair Paravel on the road west. Two men and a dwarf were riding hard. Their fourth was a centaur. The senior of the Guards, a man named Errel, suggested that they leave the road. "The enemy will surely be guarding the road. Our best chance is to find our own path through the woods and evade them."

William made a sour face. "The Chief Minister sent us on the road west and there we shall ride. Here are four Palace Guards and I—." He could not think of what he should call himself. "No, we are not going to sneak around like criminals while we are inside the borders of Narnia." William noticed a momentary hesitation on the part of the Guards. Then they assented wordlessly and shifted their attention back to their riding. William pulled the hood over his head. It was a dreary, damp day.

William reflected that he once felt inspired by the Chief Minister's call to do great deeds. Now he was driven by fear, the fear of failure and a genuine fear for his life. There was no telling what the centaurs might do if they won and he was captured. This gambit of the Minister's was the last thread by which his hopes hung.

He had grown accustomed to the dream of being ruler of a prosperous, happy country. He imagined himself riding at the head of ceremonial processions while his adoring subjects thronged the streets. He thought of the conquests, the military campaigns, the victorious battles. All had become as vaporous as daydreams.

The road was unsettlingly quiet. William supposed that the rumors, or the sight, of armed soldiers loose in the countryside was enough to deter farmers and merchants from setting out to market that day. This meant there was no opportunity to ask travelers for any news.

After nearly half an hour's ride Errel put up his hand to halt the others. There was no need for him to say anything. They could all see soldiers bedecked in the familiar maroon and yellow colors of Narnia blocking the road. They counted three centaurs and three satyrs.

"We will not try to run from them," William announced. "We will ride at a measured pace to meet them and sound them out." William was thankful that the Guards, trained in obedience, did not remind him, even with a glance, that Errel had been correct.

William felt a sense of calm that overlay his excitement as they made that slow ride to the roadblock. Some logs and branches had been carelessly strewn across the road, more to mark the point than as an actual barrier. The soldiers watched them approach and took no actions.

"Soldiers of Narnia," William at last cried out, "we are on orders from the Chief Minister. Let us pass!"

A satyr replied, "The authority of the Chief Minister does not extend past the end of his big nose. If you want to pass you will have to do it over our bodies."

A flame of outrage ignited within William. "So be it! You are traitors and you shall die like traitors!" he shouted, and drew his sword. His thinking would have sounded ridiculous to anyone who could have heard it. To William it was as if his friends had agreed to play on his cricket team but on the day of the game he found them lining up for the other side. Liars and cheaters, he thought.

The fighting was very even. The crash of sword against shield was kept up like a frenetic percussion section of an orchestra. The soldiers could not get their extra fighter into a useful position before Errel cut down one of the satyrs to even the numbers. After that, each was paired in a grim and unrelenting duel.

William held his own against a centaur. He got his shield in front of each sword stroke although the impact of the blows drew grunts from him. He had no success in getting his own blade past the centaur's shield. He steeled himself for a battle of attrition.

William heard the thumping of hooves and the jangling of a horse's harness. He looked over his shoulder and his heart sank. There was no mistaking the design of silver flowers on a purple background. Rengist and three other Knights of the Silver Apple had come up the road behind him.William flung himself with renewed energy at his opponent even as hot tears blurred his vision. It was so unfair, he thought. This is how I'm going to die.

A spear from one of the knights flew past William. He wondered how it could have missed so badly. Then the answer came as Rengist slashed his sword at the head of an army centaur. Rengist and the knights had entered the battle on William's side. The response from the army soldiers was immediate. They disengaged and ran for the forest. One of the satyrs was cut down within ten strides by a Palace Guard still on horseback. Another was fatally wounded by an arrow from a centaur that accompanied Rengist. William wiped away his tears and recognized this to be Cathiel. He had a burst of joy as if he was seeing a friend again for the first time in years.

In only a few minutes the Palace Guards and the knights were reassembled. Once the army centaurs reached the deeper woods they were too nimble to be chased by the great warhorses. Rengist called them back because he did not want them to waste time in pursuit.

Rengist explained, "We were outside the castle watching the road. To be honest we were waiting for men to approach Cair Paravel, not for you to leave. We followed you from a distance. As for the immediate future, Galoren will miss these men if none get back to his camp and if they do, of course they will report what has happened. He will soon be sending more troops to investigate."

"Galoren?" cried William incredulously.

"Yes." On Rengist's face was something like a grin but it was a shallow and fleeting amusement that created it. "How should I explain. You remember when you saw us together that first time? I had always taken my friendship with Galoren for granted. He told me he had no interest in the Kingship and he would stand by me as a friend even if it came down to sword strokes. I took him at his word. All that time he was busy conspiring with officers in the army. I believe Galoren was the one who startled your horse and killed that other unfortunate fellow, although I'm sure we won't know unless he confesses. I, in the meanwhile, was with the front chase group of the hunt—."

"While Galoren was conveniently near by," William interrupted.

"Yes. Now I think it is time for you to go to the Tree of Protection. That is your intent, is it not?"

"Yes. Does this mean you think I should be king?"

"No, you would make a most miserable king." William stared at him and he laughed. William thought the knight was rather more frightening when he laughed than otherwise. "But you do not deserve to be skewered by the spears of these traitors, either."

"You know, you never did thank me for helping you out with that centaur." William was about to say 'saving you from', a phrase that the courtiers had spoken to him, but stopped himself because he realized it wasn't quite truthful and Rengist might take insult from it.

"Gratitude is not my strong suit," Rengist admitted with a wry grin.

"Why don't your men, I mean, the knights and the Guards, take this chance to flee?"

"I don't think we would get very far unless we tried to leave Narnia altogether. If we leave this spot you can be sure that Galoren and his rebels will be waiting for you to return. Your chances are slim enough with me; do you really want me to depart?" William shook his head. "Then take this opportunity I have created for you. Go seek your destiny."


	22. Chapter 22

William walked as fast as he could along the forest paths. He had been granted this opportunity to seek the Tree of Protection but he still felt more desperate than hopeful. There didn't seem much choice to him. He felt he was being carried along by a swift river current and there was nothing to clutch hold of, no way to pull himself up on to the bank.

Walking under the trees triggered a memory in him. He remembered a green light filtered through the leaves of the forest. He had just appeared in Narnia and Stephen was there near him. He heard the knights approaching on their horses. For a moment he had felt a deep need to live in peace with the world. He wanted to be friends with everyone and have no enemies. Surely here, in this fairy tale land, it was possible. Here it was peaceful and beautiful and his anxieties would be calmed. He could be joyful being himself and no more than himself. William wrenched his thoughts back to the present moment. He told himself all that was far behind him and lost.

The Chief Minister had described the grove as filled with magical life. Dryads lived here and the trees themselves moved. But William saw and heard none of this and he was feeling uneasy. Nothing was moving. The place seemed deathly quiet, as if all the spirits were asleep or hiding. There was not even the song of birds. There was nothing to impede his progress through the grove and into the circular glade.

William smiled in satisfaction at the sight of the Tree of Protection. There seemed to be a faint silvery glimmer under the shade of the tree that could not be explained by the smoke gray skies overhead. William wasted no time in running to the trunk. Still there was no sign of the nymph. He worried for a moment whether there was some special ritual he had to perform to invoke the spirit of the Tree. Of course he knew nothing like that. He pulled the steel gauntlet off his left hand and caressed the trunk.

Green light streamed from the trunk and William leapt back in alarm. A human-sized outline formed on the trunk. William stared, utterly captivated. It seemed to him that a form was taking shape out of greenish, glowing fog, a slender feminine form. The fog vanished and Alma stood before him. "Greetings, Son of Adam. I am called Alma. I know who you are, although we have not met."

"Greetings, my Lady." William's eyes were wide with a mixture of awe and terror. The nymph's eyes were a tint of green too bright to be natural for a human. They seemed to burn with green fire as she looked at him.

"Do not be afraid." She smiled calmly. "What do you ask of me?"

When she smiled at him she seemed to be a young woman, no longer some supernatural being. He admired her long, blond hair, how it cascaded down her back in loose curls and was tied simply. Her white arms were slender and cylindrical. "I've come to seek a silver apple."

She seemed to turn away in disappointment. Then she looked at him and answered, "I understand what it is you ask. I cannot help you." To his surprise, what he thought of was not the end of his own hopes but the pain of seeing her with a troubled face. "You should not be asking this. You do not seek an apple for your own health or that of a loved one. You want an object of ancient magical power that will confer power and rank to you. I cannot bestow this upon you when you are working behind King Aurelian's back. If the King thought you should be the chosen one he would have announced that decision." William was surprised that the nymph knew of the situation. He had only thought of her as a tree. If she had spoken in harsh tones of reproval William would have argued angrily back. It was a scenario familiar to him from school. Instead, she seemed saddened that she had to refuse him, and her sympathetic look captivated William. He couldn't find words to plead his case; he could only nod speechlessly. He didn't want to upset her but he also sensed that once she had reached a decision she could not easily be moved. Her look made him realize how isolated he was in the castle, how much he lacked kindness and affection. He could not bear to go back there now, but neither could he stay. He searched her eyes, hoping to find something more than courtesy and concern, but it was not there. The slight hardening of her expression showed that she knew what he was hoping to see. She was even now turning away from him. He could think of nothing that would make her turn around.

William staggered away from the Tree empty of hopes. He lost sense of time. What difference did it make if he wandered on these trails all day? He now felt that the silence of the woods was some expression of rejection; the secret life of the grove did not want to reveal itself to him. What am I doing here, he asked himself. I suppose I should go back to the castle but, empty-handed, what's the point? It's all ended in nothing and I'm so far from home.

He became aware of the sounds of battle coming from a hundred or more yards away. There was the repetitive thud of sword on shield, the occasional ringing of sword clashing against sword, and, now and then, William would have a sharp intake of breath as he heard a terrible howl of pain. As he stopped to listen, the sounds died off. The safest course, he knew, was to escape in another direction and never look back, but this he could not do. He needed to know what happened to Rengist and the others who fought for him.

As William reached the side of the road he could count eight Narnian soldiers that had survived the melee unwounded. There was also Sir Galoren himself prancing about on his charger. The sight of Narnian soldiers in full uniform, their breastplates covered in maroon leather, their shields in bold yellow with the red rampant lion emblazoned on them, always thrilled William. He had spent days dreaming of being at the head of such troops, leading them into battle. Now the sight was poisoned for him. All around them on the road were the bodies of the slain and wounded: soldiers, knights, and Palace Guards. William sought for a sign of Rengist and found it all too soon. The body in its purple surcoat was draped over the knight's warhorse. There was a pang in William's chest as if a mailed glove had seized hold of his heart.

William emerged from behind bushes, heedless of the danger to himself. "Galoren, you filthy traitor! Only the King of Narnia has the right to lead the army on to the field. You betrayed your friend Rengist, a true and honest knight. You deserve to die!" William's voice broke as he shouted but he could not care less.

Galoren pulled off his helmet and shook his blond locks loose. "What do you intend to do about it?"

"I would fight you in single combat if you aren't a coward."

Galoren laughed. "Matters are decided by single combat only in fairy tales. I propose this. You come here this instant, fall down on your knees before me, kiss my sword and swear eternal allegiance. Then I will spare your life."

"Even if I trusted your word I would not do it."

"Then we will soon make an end to your career as pretender to the Throne."

William ran for his life, back into the forest. If he had thought about the impossibility of escaping all those soldiers or killing them, he would have collapsed into hopeless fear. He ran and tried not to think. Anger and fear gave speed to his legs. He wanted to have one crack at Galoren. Even better with a stout stave than a sword. One hard swing to rearrange that smug, superior expression on his face. William found himself chuckling giddily as he ran. But that could not last. Soon his lungs were burning from the effort. His ribs ached as he took in great gulps of breath. He was beginning to stumble as his legs turned to gelatin. I don't want to die here, he thought, in this strange country. Fear was seizing hold of him. He was afraid to look behind but he noticed that he couldn't actually hear the soldiers near him. A glance back told him that the soldiers weren't gaining; they seemed to be having difficulty on the paths. William almost screamed out for relief.

Galoren cursed the forest and he cursed the Tree of Protection. Boughs that were low drooped lower to block the passage of the Narnian soldiers. Gnarled roots twisted like snakes on the forest floor to catch the hoofsteps of satyrs and centaurs. Stems of willow and hawthorn shrubs seemed to reach across the openings in the forest, weaving a net to catch them. All around them the forest was alive and it was conspiring to stop their advance. In exasperation Galoren seized a javelin from one of his men and hurled it through the thicket in the direction of William, more as a release for his hostility than a reasonable attempt to hit him.

William watched the javelin thud harmlessly into the turf several feet from him. Had it been closer he would have had time to dodge it. He went over and pulled it from the ground. He felt better having another weapon, one that would work at distance. William felt like dancing a little jig to taunt Galoren but then two arrows fired by centaur archers whistled overhead and his fear returned. He ran for the glade. Surely the tree nymph would offer him safety. That was the only thought that lifted his spirits.


	23. Chapter 23

Digory cut the last of the sandwiches with the big carving knife and arranged it tidily. Then he brought the platter to the dining table.

"I was only kidding about making lunch, you know," said Polly with a sparkle in her eye.

"Oh…yes, I know. Well, enjoy in any case." To be truthful, both were too anxious to think much of food.

"I was infatuated with her."

It was clear to Polly that Digory was brimming with suppressed excitement. "I remember," Polly said, sounding sharper than she intended. "She was beautiful."

"Oh, beauty was only a small part of it. It was how lively she was. And she would listen so attentively to me even when I was speaking nonsense—."

"Well, it's easy enough for you to say, at your age, that beauty isn't so important but you can't make me believe it wasn't important to you as a boy."

"I suppose I'll have to grant you that point."

"I daresay she is as youthful in appearance now as then, after all these hundreds of years of Narnia time. That is in the nature of tree nymphs, I think."

That only seemed to fill Digory's head with dreamy visions. "I knew I could not return to Narnia after that visit and of course she could not leave. The first few weeks back on Earth were the most miserable since I was a child."

"You would hardly talk at all. Not to me, at least." It was after that, Polly remembered, she began to spend less time with Digory. Her visits to his country house became shorter. She made excuses to cut short her visits and return to town. When her parents suggested she 'circulate' more, spend more time with other friends, she surprised them by agreeing. Soon her wardrobe was filled with clothes for attending parties, going to the theatre and motoring, not for riding in the woods or boating on the river.

She had not seen Digory in years when she decided to include him on the guest list for her wedding. She doubted that he would come and he did not, but that seemed to trigger something in Digory and he began a regular correspondence with her. He seemed to need someone to confide his thoughts and feelings to. She suspected that he was lonely, even in the midst of his romantic entanglements.

"Did you ever hear what became of that woman you tutored? Elizabeth was her name, I believe." Polly tried to sound casual. She couldn't help getting in a dig at his love life.

"What? Oh, no, I have no idea." Digory was surprised. How did Polly remember women I've barely thought of in the last twenty years, he wondered.

Polly wanted to say something hurtful, but she stopped herself. She thought of saying, 'You seem to only take an interest in women who are not likely to have a lasting relationship with you.' It would have sent a chill between them and she could not bear ruining her rare time with Digory.

"You told me the parents were outraged."

"Not only the parents. They rounded up some of their like-minded friends—some of them significant financial supporters of the university—and marched into the dean's office to have me fired from my tutoring position and expelled from school as well. For all our sakes, I had already resigned when the relationship turned romantic."

"What scrapes you get into! It makes you seem faintly ludicrous, don't you think?"

Digory was not so amused. "Those self-appointed protectors of the community morals would have hounded me from place to place. I didn't need the money but I can't stand being idle. At least I could count on having you on my side. That meant the world to me, you know, dear Polly."

Yes, she had provided moral support—through her letters, as she couldn't be physically present. Her opinion on the matter hadn't changed. "Well, she wasn't a child. She wasn't much younger than you were."

"It was only a few months later that I left for India. The best decision I ever made. England seemed too dreary to me. It was a nation of provincial politicians and schoolmasters and meddling old women with time on their hands. I faced a future of endless committee meetings in drafty rooms with cheap blends of tea." Polly thought of how impulsive Digory was. He had always followed where his emotions led him.

Polly smiled, remembering that the business with the Major's widow began on one of his steamer voyages to the east. Digory would have to do the unconventional thing. It was funny that so much of the time he seemed oblivious how unconventional he was. That affair lasted many years, but she would not marry him and leave her estate in India. There was nothing for him to do but to return home, after ten years of traveling and teaching on the subcontinent and beyond, in places like Malaya and Borneo.

Polly's eyes became watery for a moment. What an adventure it would have been, to marry him. She looked down and momentarily recovered herself. If Digory noticed he did not say anything.

"Goodness," Digory exclaimed, "a terrible storm has suddenly blown up." The two of them jumped to the windows. Clouds had piled high in a sky of menacing inky blackness. Somewhere on the street loose shutters banged an irregular tattoo. The wind whistled through the boughs of trees and strained at the window panes. A heavy rain was falling, with the gusts of wind in one moment sending it pelting against the windows of Digory's sitting room and in the next slanting off in another direction. It only got worse as Polly and Digory watched. Mature trees were swaying from side to side, like so much grass in a field.

There was a sharp crack. "The apple tree," Digory muttered as he ran for the door to the backyard.

"Digory, you're not going out in that," Polly cried. There was something unsettling in the tone of Digory's voice. It was not his usual bright, lively voice but had the sound of resignation to bad news.

_Author's note: The bit about meeting the widow on the steamer is borrowed from _Mrs Dalloway_, I believe._


	24. Chapter 24

Stephen rode off westward on the pony. He wished he had the rook to give him directions but it had already flown off. The dwarves told him if he rode due westward for a quarter of an hour then turned south he would intercept the road near the glade of the Tree of Protection. Riding directly westward, however, was easier said than done. Stephen reached a farm, and not wanting to ride over farmland he went around, on the lanes the farmers used for their wagons. He had to weave his way through the woods, trying to avoid denser groves while still maintaining his direction. He was losing time. A feeling of panic was rising in his throat and sending his heart racing. He fought to keep his thinking clear. When he decided he'd better turn south his route did not become any easier. He had given up all pretense of following the dwarves' directions and was just hoping that he was gradually getting closer to the glade.

He stopped to drink water from a skin. Tilting his head back he saw a cluster of tall, straight linden trees, their dark leafy crowns high above the forest canopy. Those trees were by the glade, he told himself. He sighed. He was not as lost as he thought. Fortunately, he had been to the glade before and remembered something of the trees surrounding it.

Stephen tethered the pony and continued on foot. There was a strange quiet here. The trees were not moving. Dryads did not emerge to welcome him. They did not call out or sing. Even the songbirds were silent. It affected Stephen's imagination. Was the forest waiting for something to happen? Was it in mourning? Was he too late? He tried to focus his thoughts on Alma. He couldn't explain it but when her image was in his mind his fears could not trouble him.

Stephen felt some relief on stepping into the circular glade. Everything seemed as expected except for the pall of silence. After the dull grey shade of the woods the soft shimmer of silver light under the Tree of Protection seemed alive. As he approached the Tree he could see Alma emerging from the trunk as she had that moonlit night. Stephen's heart leapt. Alma's arms stretched out what seemed like gauzy green veils of fabric until they disintegrated in a final shimmer and only the figure of the nymph remained.

Stephen ran to her and was going to wrap her in a hug. Steps away he stopped himself. A voice told him it was a childish thing to do. He wouldn't hug a king or a queen and Alma was as regal as any queen he could imagine. His arms flapped uselessly against his sides. Alma showed no sign of noticing. She smiled warmly and saved Stephen from an awkward pose by placing an arm lightly on his shoulder.

The words tripped over his tongue as Stephen hurriedly explained why he had come.

"You came to protect me?" Her eyes opened wide in surprise. "Your companion, William, has come and departed," she said in a detached voice.

Stephen furrowed his brow and frowned. Alma looked inquisitively at him and when he did not volunteer an explanation she asked, "What is the matter?"

"Of course you're safe. You're a magical being. I must be pretty stupid to think that I could help you. I can't go fifteen minutes in this forest without getting lost."

"You are much too hard on yourself, Stephen. You strike a more gallant figure than you suppose." She put her arm around his shoulders and the two of them strolled slowly over the grass.

"You know me for a flirty young woman, a frivolous dancer on moonlit lawns. I hope you can see beyond that," she said with a bright smile. Stephen felt comfortable and relaxed doing nothing more than look at her. "You will go home to your England soon, I am certain." She clasped Stephen's hand. "Know that I do care for you. I hope you remember me." She bent over to kiss him tenderly on the cheek.

William stood hidden at the edge of the glade, watching. He was caught by surprise to see Stephen. What is he doing here, William asked. Is he asking for a silver apple? They're standing so close together, like boyfriend and girlfriend. She looks so happy and carefree with him, as if that pasty-faced little git was really her boyfriend. That's crazy! What are they talking about? He's got nothing interesting to say to her. She held his hand and he touched hers. She gave him a tender look. Stephen looks so different when he's with her. He has a silly, happy smile. You couldn't even recognize him. That was not shamming! She kissed him on the cheek. How could she prefer him to me? How could she? It isn't fair. He can't have her.

Stephen heard a sound and turned. He saw William run from the edge of the trees then twist his body to throw a javelin towards him.

William heard the words "He can't have her!" escape from his thoughts and shatter the silence of the glade. He felt the exertion and heard his grunt as he uncoiled and released the javelin. The tree nymph reacted instantly and threw her body in front of Stephen and into the flight path of the javelin. William watched the projectile strike her squarely through the chest. He sank to his knees and howled in anguish.


	25. Chapter 25

Stephen sat on the grass with Alma's lifeless head and torso resting on his lap. He had pulled out the javelin. There was a dark patch on the tree nymph's dress where he had buried his head against her body and his tears had dampened the fabric, but he was not crying now. Stephen wiped his tear-streaked face and became aware of the blood drying on his hands, gluing them in the configuration they had when they came into contact with Alma's wound. There was also blood drying on his shirt in odd and unpredictable patches. He was aware of William at the edge of his field of vision. Stephen couldn't bear to ruin his concentration on the tree nymph by looking at him. William had also stopped crying and sat very still on the grass.

Galoren's soldiers, released from the obstructions thrown up by the grove, filtered through and entered the glade. It was not that they were following Galoren, although he was one of the first to reach the Tree. They seemed drawn like iron filings to a magnet. Once they drew close enough they could see that something unimaginable in all of Narnian history had come to pass. A murmur of talk passed through the assembled soldiers. Stephen could guess what they were saying: the shade under the Tree of Protection was only shade now, the silvery light was extinguished. After the murmurs died a profound hush was sustained over the glade.

Stephen looked up and saw the skies darkening with unnatural swiftness. He trembled at a sight beyond his understanding. The skies were blackened as if the sun had been eclipsed. All those assembled turned their heads skyward. They waited and held their breaths. A sudden, powerful wind blew. It seemed to swirl through the glade, and then, as abruptly as it had begun, it died to nothing. Standing in the glade was now a lion, a great tawny beast. In that uncanny darkness the lion seemed to glow with its own inner light. Its mane was like a golden crown framing its face. It opened its mouth and roared. The air was filled with the roar. It echoed off the hills and shook the leaves on the trees. The very earth seemed to quiver. All those present fell to their knees and bowed their heads, as if on a signal.

"Aslan," Stephen whispered. The mighty ruler of Narnia had returned at last. When he spoke Stephen expected him to thunder in his wrath, but he did not. His voice was deep and resonant but his tone was measured. It was a speaking voice, but loud enough for all to hear clearly.

"The Tree is dead, but I will not leave it to rot, or allow the White Witch and her henchmen to desecrate and mock it. It shall return to the good soil of Narnia from which it grew, to nourish new generations of tall and healthy trees. A thousand years from now a forest will still be standing here." As he spoke a shimmering silver light spread through every branch of the Tree. The Tree's leaves were shed and as they fell they crumbled into sparkling dust. Stephen and William both got to their feet as the silvery dust fell on them. They reached out their hands but by the time the dust had fallen so far it had no weight or substance to it. The sparkling lights extinguished themselves. Stephen noticed with a momentary pang of loss that Alma's body was no longer on the ground. Then he realized that Alma and the Tree were one, and if the Tree would no longer have material form then her human form could not continue either. For a moment the trunk and the boughs of the Tree stood like a bleached skeleton. Then they too dissolved and fell to earth as if they were made of nothing more substantial than snow.

"People of Narnia! You cannot claim not to have heard the dire warnings voiced by the messengers I have sent you over the years. What they said was true! I will not torment you further by repeating those words now when it is too late. You are defenseless against the advance of the White Witch and her army.

"There will be no final stand against the White Witch. I will not permit more blood to be shed, although there are some among you ready to sacrifice your own. The people of Narnia must accept their fate knowing that after the Long Winter there will dawn a new day. Four thrones will sit empty to await the coming to Cair Paravel of new kings and queens. They will be two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve. Watch for their coming! Then the land will be reborn and I shall walk among you once again. None who have led Narnia to this pass will live to see that day. The people of Narnia will be purified by sadness and suffering and they will carry forward into the new age the knowledge of their errors.

"Come to me, Sons of Adam." William stepped forward and knelt humbly before the Lion. Aslan asked, "Why do you tremble in my presence, my son?"

"I'm afraid that you will punish me for what I've done," William replied, eyes downcast.

Aslan sighed, a long, reverberating exhale. He lowered his head close to William's ear. "I cannot add to the cruel blows that the world has already dealt you. I know you are sorry for the terrible thing you have done today. You wish to redeem yourself by sacrificing yourself against the White Witch. You desire to make a grand heroic gesture but you will not have that opportunity in Narnia. No, you will have all of your life on Earth to redeem yourself for your crime. My son, know that my presence will still be with you in that other world." The Lion breathed on the boy. The warm breath enveloped him so that he seemed to float in it. It was not as one might imagine. It was dry, more like basking in the sun's heat. "I breathe on you to give you the strength to view yourself and your acts justly, both the good and the bad." William looked into the Lion's large, liquid eyes and saw compassion and understanding. To have the great Lion speak words intended only for his ears sent a keen thrill through his body and he could hear the words in his mind long after they were spoken. Aslan didn't want him to die. He didn't really want to either. That discovery rekindled a joy in him.

Aslan turned to Stephen. He said, "Do not torture yourself with questions of how events might have happened otherwise." Aslan breathed on Stephen as well. "I breathe on you to give you strength to look to a future beyond your present suffering." Stephen looked briefly at the Lion's face and saw an expression so sad and sympathetic it made him set aside his own grief. "See the boy William. He grieves for his loss as much as you do. I know that it is not in your nature to feel hatred for long. I will not ask that you forgive him today, or tomorrow, but someday your heart will be ready."

"Are the two of you ready to return home?"Aslan asked. William nodded. Stephen leaned over and whispered into Aslan's ear. "Ah, yes. I will let the dryads know to untie your pony." A low rumbling that might have been amusement went through the Lion's body. "Once you are home the pain of your memories will soften. That is the balm I offer you." As the Lion placed a paw on each boy in turn he vanished from sight.

The Lion was not finished addressing the gathered Narnians. He turned to Galoren. "You must make amends for your treachery, Galoren. First you must see that the men who died here today are brought back to Cair Paravel and given proper burial. I will not separate one side from another now.

"Those citizens of Narnia who have the strength and endurance to leave this land to escape the wrath of the White Witch will have that choice. I set you the task, Galoren, to lead the people to the mountain pass in the south and through the desert to Archenland. You will never set foot in Narnia again."

"I must presently depart from you. Urgent business beckons me elsewhere in the kingdom." A low rumble came from deep within the Lion's body. It sounded almost like a groan. "I presided over the coronation of the first King of Narnia. It would be too cruel not to be present at the final hours of King Aurelian, last of his line. He must learn all that I have told you today. An age of Narnia is about to pass."


	26. Chapter 26

_Author's note: I want to thank all those who have read this far. I know you're out there. You're just very, very quiet. Of course, special thanks to those who wrote reviews._

Through the blinding rain Digory could see that the apple tree had been snapped like a twig by the force of the wind. The jagged, splintered break was some three feet above the ground. He could also see that by the tree Stephen and William were lying on the wet grass. "Get up! You'll catch pneumonia out here." Digory pulled them to their feet. They seemed exhausted and disoriented. Polly was there as soon as Stephen was standing to fold him into her arms.

Digory and Polly hustled the boys inside. Digory built a small fire in the fireplace of the sitting room. The boys' clothes were not as wet as they had feared. They had apparently returned to Earth at about the same time as the breaking of the tree. They were wearing their English clothes again, as if they had never been away.

Digory looked uneasily from one boy to another but he saw that each was so focused on his own thoughts that they might as well have been living in different worlds. The four of them sat in front of the fire with the silence only broken by the crackling of the flames. Polly fretted to see Stephen so pale and drained. His dark eyes were fixed on the dancing flames. He was aware of his mother's attention but he did not look up. Polly caught Digory's expression. Clearly, something very troubling had occurred to the boys in Narnia. He wanted very much to question them but he knew he had to approach gently.

The two boys sat on different chairs and would not look at one another. Stephen felt a sort of physical revulsion towards William. Being aware of the presence of the other boy made muscles all over his body tense, and it was difficult for him to breathe evenly.

"I think it's time I tell what happened," William stated in a decisive tone. Looking off into the distance, he proceeded to tell the story of the boys' time in Narnia. He spoke calmly and thoughtfully. For the first time since they had returned home Stephen looked at him steadily. For Polly and Digory it was a stark and distressing history. When it came to describing the events of the last hour in the glade, William's voice faltered. His mind retreated in horror from the fatal blow. He forced himself on, his voice choked as he tried to master his tears, and managed to get out enough for Polly and Digory to understand.

Polly saw that Stephen's body at times trembled with anger. She went over to Stephen and held his face to her body.With someone to confide in, the tension in his body dissolved and his tears gave expression to his feelings of helplessness. "I thought it was my job to save her, but the opposite happened. Aslan said not to blame myself. She was like a goddess. I can't believe she could be dead."

Digory sat on the chesterfield where Polly was holding her son. He reached over to squeeze Stephen's arm. Digory said, "I don't know if this will be much comfort to you—it's the sort of thing that professors like to talk about—but I don't think Alma can truly be killed. She is the Tree of Life. Aslan told me so himself. That form of her existence may be ended but life will always find a way to renew itself." Stephen looked up at him, eyes watery but bright. He thought the words were beautiful.

"I can't bear to think what a terrible time the people of Narnia will go through," said Polly. "I will say a prayer for them every night." She thought of the four thrones in an empty room in a castle that couldn't be entered. It would be their only sign of hope through those long years.

They heard William's voice again. "I remember something else now. At the roadside I told Rengist that he never thanked me for my help against the centaur, but I'm thinking, I never thanked him for saving me and giving me a chance to get to the Tree. I'll never be able to thank him. Rengist died so that I could have a chance—but, well, you know what came of it." The weight of emotions William had undergone that day could not be held back and he gave in to soft crying.

Words came back to Digory that he had heard once before. He also remembered the rich, liquid voice that spoke them. The words were, 'Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another.' Digory stole over to the armchair where William was sitting. William was wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Barely able to contain his own emotions, Digory reached an arm around William's shoulders. The boy was surprised but did not shrink from the contact. Digory said, "At least you won't have to explain to your father about the chain mail." William looked at his clothes in wonder again and cracked a smile.

"We four are united by our grief for those who have fallen and for Narnia," said Digory. "We are keepers of her memory here on Earth."

It seemed a very long day to the boys. It was now late in the afternoon. William said, "My Dad will be expecting me home for dinner."

"If he asks, say you've been spending time with your eccentric neighbor. If you have the chance, come around some time and I'll tell you about my and Polly's visits to Narnia." William nodded thankfully.

After dinner Polly and Digory stood in the yard to enjoy the evening light. The storm had departed as suddenly as it had blown up, in time for the sunset to paint the sky in the west a brilliant orange beneath the remaining clouds. Digory paced about, looking worried. Polly asked him what was wrong.

"It's ghastly thinking of the tree nymph dying like that, but I don't grieve the way I thought I would."

"It was a long time ago in a different world."

"Yes, I know that, but the boys loved Alma with such heartfelt devotion. I was never like that, not really. I have always been too selfish. I manage to end up neglecting women and they drift away from me. You, on the other hand, have sacrificed so much for Edward and your family."

"I must admit I've thought the same thing. But I know it isn't true. You forget what a passionate boy you were. I saw how deeply devoted you were to your mother, through her sickness and her good health. You are as loving and selfless as any. Do not blame yourself for what was not meant to be."

"And then there's you. I mustn't forget that I've been loyal to you for a very long time. Of course, that's different."

"Yes, of course." Polly had a merry smile that left Digory a little puzzled.

"Knowing that you are near I feel much calmer." He reached for Polly's hand and held it in his own. "You will stay near me, won't you, Polly? Where would I be in this wilderness without you?"

Polly's hand felt thin and frail. She had raised two young children through the Great War with Edward away. It would be years before Stephen was finished school. She was not so young. What a burden she had on her mind with another war looming.

Digory paused as the two stood together. Then he spoke again. "I'm worried about the situation in Europe. I can't help thinking that another war is inevitable. A frightful evil is rising. It sends chills down my spine when I think of what might happen. I wish I were not too old to take part in the fight."

"You've done enough in the service of your country!" cried Polly with passion. "You fought in the Battle of the Somme. I'm sure you will find some other way to contribute."

"You have faith, don't you, Polly, that we will find the hope and the strength to endure?"

"There are some things I am certain of. I know this land will endure and will triumph over its troubles."

She thought, there are two other things that I know for certain. She loved Edward and she would be a friend to Digory for as long as life would permit them.

That summer Polly and Stephen visited Digory's house again. The three of them were standing in the backyard. The stump of the apple tree had not been uprooted. It had been sawn flat close to the ground. Digory told them, "I didn't have the heart to burn the wood from the tree. I had it sawn into planks. I want to make a wardrobe out of it, for the country house."

"You can't make an entire wardrobe out of that tree," Polly observed.

"No, I suppose not."

"You could use it for panels, on the doors," Stephen said. "I saw panels on the thrones of Narnia. One was a picture of the Tree."

"Why, that would be perfect. You still have those drawings of the Tree, don't you? The wood carver could work from those. We would keep our connection, however indirect, with Alma and with Narnia."

Digory looked at Polly. "Did you ever think that we would get so sentimental?"

"Oh, you were always sentimental." And they laughed.


End file.
